Heads and Hearts
by mak324
Summary: Sequel to Reveries and Ramifications. A little over a month has passed, and the strange demon bond between Buffy and Spike has only gotten stronger, and harder to control. With the only surviving link to the connection hidden away in the Italian city of Naples, the Slayer and her vampire travel to Europe in search of the answers they desperately need.
1. Chapter 1

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The dream ends the way it always does.

A wordless command to stay where I am. Impulsive, possibly an accident, but there. Loud and throbbing and inescapable as it lodges in my head and stays there, immoveable. Locking me in place. Our eyes meet, and there's a silent thread through the connective bridge between us. An inaudible _I love you_. And then I watch it happen. The stake, or the cross bow, or the arrow. Whatever it is, whatever sharp, pointed weapon that's featuring in my nightmares that night. I watch as the pointed piece of wood finds its way through Spike's chest. Watch as he vanishes before my eyes, explodes into dust right in front of me. And always, always, just before I can get to him. My legs lock, muscles frozen in place, swirling flecks of dust floating all around me blinding me, choking my lungs.

The dream ends the way it always does again tonight.

And again tonight, I scream myself awake.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, hands shaking just a little where they grip the fluffy down comforter. My body uncomfortably sore, aching, like I've been physically fighting with someone or something in the night. My shoulders are pinched, held tight with tension left over that I can't ever seem to shake right away. There are wet streaks tracking down my cheeks.

It's the same way I've woken up every time I've had the nightmare.

Every night for the last month.

And just like every night for the last month, I reach for him immediately. Unclench my hand from the comforter and slide it almost blindly out along the sheets toward the left side of the bed. I feel for a moment, expecting to feel the cool, smooth expanse of my husband's bare chest or the curve of his elbow beneath my hand. Like usual. Like I have every night for the last month.

But there's nothing.

And I mean literally, nothing. Because I don't feel him physically beside me, but as the haze of sleep starts to fade, I realize I don't feel him anywhere. Not the steady thrum, the constant low buzzing from the ever present connection or the distant knowing that he's here, even if not right here, somewhere else in the house.

I don't feel him at all.

In a sudden, full blown panic, I whip my head to the side, eyes scanning the space in the bed beside me frantically. Looking for dust particles maybe, I don't know. There's an indention beside me where he _had_ been, where he must have been sleeping maybe only minutes before, but he's not there now. He's gone. Chest tightening painfully, alarm turning icy as it threads down through my veins, I turn my eyes back up and blink into the familiar darkness of my bedroom.

But it isn't my bedroom. It isn't. It's too big, too open. Overstuffed chairs and a large hanging mirror and an ornately carved armoire sit on one side of the room, looking beautiful but cold. Standardized. And the bed I'm lying in is too big, too. Too soft to be my bed from home. And for a moment my dread heightens. Cold and blurry, that weird sort of fuzzy confusion that only happens after you've been jarred awake by something, the tiniest hint of a ringing in my ears, like static.

"Spike," I call out for him, maybe a little too loudly, but I don't care. I'll wake everybody in…well, wherever it is I am if I have to. "Spike!"

There's no immediate response, so my senses instantly flash to red alert.

I throw the heavy duvet covers off and wrap the white sheet below it tightly around me, about to scramble out of the bed to go search for him, when the creak of a door sounds and suddenly opens. Golden light spills into the darkened bedroom, highlighting the diamond pattern of the thick carpet of the room as Spike steps out. Standing in the doorway I somehow hadn't noticed, facing me. Unashamedly naked. The marble like outline of his body is silhouetted against the bright yellow light behind him as he stares across at me.

And as soon as I see him, I relax a little. Can feel the gentle pulsation of the connective link between us pumping to life again, like somehow the door he'd been standing behind had been blocking it out before. I relax a little, and I remember. Remember where we are, why we're here, why nothing in this room seems familiar.

Because it's a hotel room. A hotel room in Long Beach, at the resort Mom had found for us. We'd arrived late in the night and exhausted, I'd fallen asleep almost immediately. We're here for the weekend. For our honeymoon.

 _Right._

"What is it?" Spike asks me before I can get another word out, before I can explain to him that it had been a false alarm. He crosses quickly and soundlessly from the bathroom toward the bed. And it's only now that I notice it—the book clutched in his hand. The big, yellow one that I recognize through the haze of quickly fading sleep. The book of Tennyson's poems that he's carried with him since he was turned, over one hundred years ago. I frown down at it, blink a few times, then turn my eyes back to Spike's. His brow is furrowed, concern rippling off his corded muscles in waves. "What's wrong?"

This feels weird. Something…feels weird. Maybe it's just because we're not at home. I'd expected to wake up at home, and we're here in Long Beach instead.

That has to be it.

"Nothing," I tell him weakly, shaking my head, waiting for my heart rate to slow down. "Sorry, I think I just got a little...confused."

"This about the dream again?" he asks quietly, navy blue eyes glittering at me in the moonlight streaming in through the open balcony doors. A breeze blows in, ruffling my hair across my face, sending the thin white sheet fluttering over my bare legs.

Feeling silly, especially because it's obviously so obvious to him what had happened, I bite down on the inside of my cheek and nod.

My vampire appraises me thoughtfully, tipping his head back to look down at me over the line of his nose, through his lashes. "Buffy."

And I recognize the tone. It's this weird, unmixy mix of scolding and comforting. There's a soft hint of something coming toward me now. Not concern anymore, but something that feels a little closer to disappointment. I know he'd been kind of hoping we wouldn't have to deal with this here. Not here, away from Sunnydale, on our _honeymoon_ of all things. Not here, when it's just the two of us.

God, it's _never_ just the two of us anymore. The house is always busy, someone's always around. Not that I mind all that much normally. At first, it had been good. Nice, even, having so many people around. Someone always there to watch out for Dawn if Spike and I had to patrol, or someone to drop by and check on Mom, help me make sure she'd made it to all her doctor's appointments over those first few weeks. We'd put everything on hold for those first few weeks. Well, everything except for patrols and research. We'd put off the inevitable trip to Italy, we'd put off moving out of the house. We'd even put off this—the honeymoon. It just hadn't been a good time to leave the country, to leave the city, even if just for a few days. And staying in the house with Dawn and Mom had just felt…necessary. At least until things with Mom's health had been handled, or at least a little more squared away.

But then the Hellmouth had gotten all perky again.

Just, boom. Out of nowhere—demons, demons everywhere. Like all of a sudden they'd all gotten together and talked about it, realized they hadn't exactly been making the Slayer's life miserable as of late and had all decided to come out of hiding at once. Things had gotten so busy, and time had gotten so away from me. Between the Slaying and the Mom stuff and the constant people milling around the house, Spike and I'd been spending time together, but we hadn't been…spending _time_ together. And having to wait well over a month to take any kind of what Spike's been referring to as a "proper" honeymoon has definitely taken its toll. On both of us.

Add these constant nightmares on top of all that, and you have a recipe for one majorly frustrated vampire. This weekend is supposed to be about just the two of us. The two of us getting some quality, much needed alone time.

Too bad my Slayery subconscious doesn't seem to care.

"I know," I murmur now, sinking back into the huge mattress, pulling the sheets down with me. "I know, it's just…"

"You can't help it," Spike supplies for me, only the slightest hint of mockery in his voice as he gazes down at me, quirking an eyebrow. I smile sheepishly up at him, and he sighs. Lifts the other side of the sheet up and slides back into the bed, exerting the softest pressure against my shoulder as he rolls me back onto my side so he can slide in behind me. The curve of his body against mine is instantly soothing.

"But it's just a dream," Spike whispers, tugging me back more firmly against him, the bare skin of his chest soft, cool and smooth against the fevered skin of my back. Icy lips feather against the back of my neck. "Just a dream."

More than likely, he's probably right. But it never feels like just a dream. It always feels bigger. More frightening. More real. Not quite…Slayer dream real, but real enough that it never fails to leave me with a solid case of the wiggins.

God, so, _so_ real.

I sigh, looking out through the open French door to the little faux-stone pillars that make up the balcony railing. I can hear the quiet roll of waves crashing over rocks in the distance, the scent of salt water tingling my nose.

"You wanna know how many times I've had a dream that's turned out to be 'just a dream'?" I ask my vampire, a sharp flash or irritation coloring my cheeks when his immediate response is a low, rumbling chuckle. I arch back, glaring at him from over my shoulder as I say, "It's not funny."

"No," he agrees silkily, shifting up onto his elbow so he can look down at me, ungelled platinum curls twisting down loosely over his forehead. "It isn't. You know what else isn't funny? The fact that I've got you holed up here, all to myself, _naked_ no less." He illustrates his point by slipping his hand so slowly down my stomach, dipping two insanely deft fingers between my legs. I gasp in response, my body responding instantly to his attention, arching further into him. I feel his lips curve into a smirk against my shoulder as he murmurs, "And all you've bloody done since we got here is sleep."

I whimper softly, my hips moving in a knowing, automatic rhythm to match the movements of his fingers. A tempo my body knows immediately, something simple and primitive. "We got here…late," I remind him breathily, the remnants of the nightmare quickly fading, growing fizzy around the edges with every expert pump of his hand.

"Mmmhm," he purrs, nibbling gently at the lobe of my ear, "and now it's early."

"Early," I hear myself agreeing mindlessly, my lashes fluttering shut as I press further into the heel of his hand. Seeking the friction I need, the push to fan the flames he's begun low in my belly.

I can't keep the strained little mewl of protest from escaping my lips when he suddenly pulls his hand away from me, dancing the heated, arousal-slick pads of his fingers in a little pattern back up my stomach. Then he chuckles, dropping a hurried kiss to my shoulder and leaping back out of the bed. My head and eyes follow him, narrowed in a frustrated little glare as he whirls back around to face me.

"Come here," he says, eyes glittering out at me from beneath his lashes as he holds his hand out. "I wanna show you somethin'."

I roll slowly, completely over toward him, consciously letting the white sheet slip down to my waist as I do. Enjoying the way his eyes flash hungrily as his eyes sweep down from my face, then slowly back up again.

His lips twitch up into a wicked smirk.

And for a moment, just one, something in me tightens in a different way. This moment feels…off. Different.

 _Wrong._

But it's gone in a flash as he extends his hand to me again, repeating himself. This time, his voice is more commanding. "Come here."

Spike says it softly, but with just enough of that coercion, with just enough of that demand in his tone that I find myself obeying blindly. Tossing the sheet the rest of the way off my body and sliding to the edge of the bed, allowing him to wrap his hand around mine and haul me to my feet. Quickly, a little more roughly than I'm expecting, and then he turns and leads me swiftly across the room and into the open bathroom door.

The change in lighting has me blinking rapidly, squinting a little up at the bright yellow vanity lights that line the long mirror in front of the marble countertop.

"What am I looking at?" I ask him, and he responds by tugging me more fully into the bathroom. Places his cool hands over my bare shoulders and spins me around to face the mirror, his presence solid, firm behind me as he presses the front of his body along the back of mine.

And I'm suddenly standing here, staring into the mirror. Staring into my own reflection.

 _Only_ my reflection.

"Spike?" I ask softly, brow furrowing as I watch myself in the mirror. The feeling of having him so close, _so_ close, behind me but seeing nothing reflected back at me where my brain seems to know he should be is more jarring than I think I'd expected. I mean, it isn't a surprise I guess. Yeah, sure, Vampire Slayer here. I know all about the vampire's and their no reflection thing.

But this…this…

There's something so _raw_ about it. So...out in the open. It's easy to hide normally, so easy to convince myself that we're a normal couple. That we're just like everybody else. Even when he drinks his blood, he always does it out of a mug. It isn't like I see the crimson liquid as he swallows it down. He might as well be drinking coffee every time, for as casual as he is about it. For as casual as we all are about it.

But now, standing here, face to face with myself, feeling him...feeling him all around me, but not _seeing_ him. Watching the skin at my shoulders being invisibly kneaded by strong hands, the right lobe of my ear being tugged gently by blunt teeth.

It's wiggy. There's no getting around it.

I swallow hard when Spike gives my ear one last tender tug and his hands begin to slide down my arms, from the curve of my shoulders and down to circle around my wrists.

"Trust me?" my vampire asks me huskily, his lips at my ear, breath sending a stray strand of my hair fluttering across my cheek.

I nod almost without realizing it, suddenly mesmerized by my reflection, watching the skin at my wrists redden slightly as his grip tightens, sending a sharp, urgent jolt of desire rocketing down my spine. An equally sharp pang of pure, virulent pleasure when he grips me just a little harder. And then he shifts forward, one of those flashing, lightning fast movements and suddenly, the front of his body still molded to the back of mine, he forces my hands down onto the cold marble countertop in front of me. Bending my body to a near ninety degree angle.

"Hold on," he commands me roughly, and my fingers instinctively curl around the far edge of the counter just below where the mirror begins as my eyes search the reflection in vain for his eyes. More than half expecting to suddenly see him looking back at me.

And a moment later, another fierce wave of possessiveness hurtles through me, every muscle in my body tensing almost painfully and goose bumps rippling up all over my skin when his hands leave my wrists and dig into my hips instead.

I cry out, a throaty, desperate sounding moan when he's suddenly inside of me. Without warning, sheathed fully, my body suctioning tightly around him. Throwing my head back and closing my eyes, I exhale long and slow as I begin to move my hips in time, in rhythm with his. The same primal rhythm from before in the bed, one we both know without thinking. Something known. His hands slide away from my hips, one drifting to the small of my back to pinch it lightly, the other winding up to tangle in my hair.

"No," Spike demands after a moment, his voice low and honeyed in my ear, "don't close your eyes."

My eyes fly open again, lashes fluttering wildly like they have a mind of their own. Opening wide, gazing directly into the mirror, directed just over my shoulder where I can feel him behind me.

And it isn't possible.

It's the first thought that flickers into my muddled, lust addled brain. That it isn't _possible_. But it is.

It has to be.

Because his eyes are there now, suddenly there in the mirror. Riveted on mine. Gazing at me through the reflection he hadn't had a moment ago. Or, at least…they look like his eyes. They are. They have to be.

I'd recognize them anywhere.

They're his eyes, but it isn't him standing behind me. Or, it is. It's like it's him, but…not him.

 _William_. The name comes unbidden to the tip of my tongue, where it stays. It is Spike. It is him and not him at the same time. The reflection I'm seeing mirrored back at me, its Spike's when he was human. It's William's.

The same eyes. The same sharp, angled cheeks. The same full lips. But those sparkling azure eyes are rimmed, hidden away behind the glass of rounded spectacles. And where before his skin had been alabaster white, muscles like they'd been cut from stone, his skin is a peachy color, the lines of his muscles softer somehow. The hair in soft curls, a warm, bronzy color over his forehead.

The vision lasts only an instant before it flickers and fades out. Just long enough for me to think that maybe I've just been seeing things. But when William's reflection fades out, it doesn't just disappear. Rather than leaving all together, instead of fading into nothingness like I'd more than expected it to do, it stays. Morphs, physically changes before my eyes until I'm staring into the same azure eyes set back against marble skin, tousled platinum blonde hair.

Spike's reflection.

I blink rapidly, wondering if he can see all this, too. Or if it's only me. If my eyes are just playing tricks on me.

Or if I've suddenly gone as crazy as Dru.

"Do you want it?" Spike asks suddenly, heatedly. Closing his eyes, turning his head into the side of my neck and inhaling deeply. And all the while his body is still making love to mine, hips rocking up and into me, his grip tightening more and more in my hair. Almost to the point of pain, as he steadily, fluidly pumps into me from behind. In this different, deliciously primitive way that has my demon waking up. Roaring back to life.

I have the sudden, wild, and totally unbidden urge to reach back behind me and clasp my hand over his throat. I don't know exactly why. Have no idea where the idea's come from. And because I don't know, because I'm not sure, it scares me.

Just a little.

It has to be this...the way Spike's taking me. Because that's what he's doing. The way his grip in my hair tightens a little more, forcing my body to bend down a little further, switching the angle of his thrusts and making me cry out again in deliriously pained pleasure. All the times we've been together, all the times we've been intimate, as wild and untamed and possessive as some of those times had been, none of them had been _this._ There hasn't been an undercurrent of violence, of blood lust, between us.

Not since that night behind The Bronze. Not since the first time.

And even then, this is different. There's violence and bloodlust here, yeah. And also a deep, burning desire. And there, _always_ there beneath all the rest of it, there's love. Knowing. Belonging. The constant, steady drum of my pulse, the glowing warmth spreading over me, coming from him. It's always there, too.

"Do you want it?" Spike asks again, leaning closer to me, biting down into the tender skin at the nape of my neck with blunt, human teeth.

"Want what?" I ask back, the words soft, quiet and confused. A direct contrast to the raging flames coursing through me now. I shudder beneath him, lost to the sensations he's creating in me.

"Time," Spike replies, never stopping his movements, never still his hips. If anything, he gets rougher with me. His hand tightening, twisting harder in my hair again. This time, though, it's to yank me up. To pull me back against his chest, pull my head to the side to give him access to the line of my neck so he can trail open mouthed kisses over my throat.

"What?" I ask dazedly, shivering against him again as he trails kisses back down to my shoulder, laving his claim mark with the pointed tip of his tongue.

"Do you want more time?" he asks again, his voice low, practically a growl into my skin. My skin erupts in goose bumps, feeling too tight. Stretched too thin. I swear I can hear the blood rushing in my veins, pumping wildly through every artery as it travels. I close my eyes again as he nips at the pulsing, throbbing point over my jugular vein and murmurs, "Time is the only enemy."

The words ring in my ears, like I should know them. Like I've heard them before. Some distant, hollow kind of truth, known and unknown all at the same time.

 _Time is the only enemy_.

"I don't…" I trail off, swallowing hard, biting back another loud moan when Spike slows his rhythm, swirling his hips in a slow, languid circle. "Oh, _God_ , I don't understand."

"You don't have to," he promises me, lips still pressed to my skin, his hand winding around from my back to my hip, then down further. Teasing me, delving between my legs. I feel him smirk when my hips buck up into his hand. "Just trust me."

He's stilled his hips completely now, still buried to the hilt inside me. The soft pad of his index finger working in slow, torturous circles around every single place between my legs except where I need it most. I whimper desperately and Spike breathes, "Do you trust me, Buffy?"

The way he says my name has another wave of possessive desire coursing through me, whipping butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy, the blood rushing so loudly in my ears that I can't hear anything else.

And I nod again, helpless to do anything but. Nibbling at my ear suddenly, the pointed tip of an incisor clipping the soft flesh of the lobe and sending a sudden, warm trickle of blood spilling down the side of my neck. I gasp, my eyes flying open again.

Just in time to see him flick his long, perfect tongue out over the crimson streak.

The deepest, darkest part of my craving for him roars at the sight, my fingers itching where they grip the marble. And the urge to whirl around and suck his blood tinged tongue into my mouth is nearly unbearable. But his hands still have command over my body, playing me expertly, devastatingly well.

Inexplicably, my inner muscles clench and my mouth opens to let out what I'm expecting to be a heady moan, but what instead sounds an awful lot like a rumbling growl. For a half second, maybe less, I swear...could _swear_ my eyes flash golden.

It happens too quickly, over before I have time to understand it.

Is this what he'd meant? Is this what he'd wanted to show me?

"There she is," Spike whispers, looking up at me again. "There's my girl." The words are just slightly distorted around his fangs, gleaming in the vanity lights as he cocks his head to the side and asks me one more time, "Do you want it?"

I still don't think I understand what he's asking me. All I know is what his body is demanding from mine, the answer he so clearly wants me to give. I don't think I could give him a different one, even if I tried. When I open my mouth to speak, the words don't sound like mine.

 _God, yes._

"There now," the vampire purrs, looking as pleased as he sounds. He looks up at me one more time, his eyes somehow finding my own through the impossibility of his reflection. And it's his demon's penetrating gaze locking with mine. "It only hurts for a moment."

A second later he growls, sinking his fangs down deep into his faded mark, making my entire body pulse and shudder, inner muscles spasming hard around him. Blood spills out from the wound, dark red gushing past his lips and down my bare skin...bare shoulder, bare breast, bare stomach, in glistening, perfect rivulets.

My head starts spinning, my mind flashing back to that moment with Dracula. The words he'd said, haunting words he'd told me. Just before slicing his wrist open and bidding me to drink from his vein. The vein. The vein of darkness.

" _No. Your craving goes deeper than that."_

Spike begins to drink from me.

" _You think you know what you are…what's to come."_

Really drink. Not the way he'd done during the claim. Not even the way he'd done after being de-chipped. This is different. Less controlled than the claim, but not the wild, primal pulls he'd taken for his memory. This isn't hunger, either. Or it is.

But it's a hunger of a different kind.

" _You haven't even begun."_

This isn't drinking to take. It's drinking to give.

I realize it as I stare into the impossible reflection in front of me, my eyes wide, hazel green and glassy as they shift down. Follow the crimson stains over my tanned skin, finally lighting on the bright glint of silver from Spike's wedding ring. His left hand is curved over my lower stomach, fingers splayed possessively across the top of my pelvic bone.

" _Find it. The darkness."_

Spike releases me, tearing his fangs from my shoulder with needle-like precision, nibbling, suckling lightly at the wound to close it again. To stem the flow of blood still trailing in flawless, vibrant streaks down my front. Our eyes meet in the mirror again, and my gaze drifts down to his lips. Full and swollen, stained with just a hint of red.

" _Find your true nature."_

I spin around in Spike's arms to brace my back against the cold marble and wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him hard down to me. Kissing him hungrily, heedless of his fangs. Not caring as the graze the corners of my mouth. His normally cool lips and tongue are hot, warmed by the coppery heat of my blood. His hands find my hips again and he pinches them, eliciting another low, throaty growl from me. He growls back lustily as I suck his tongue into my mouth, lifting me up, slamming me back hard into the mirror's shiny surface.

It shatters on impact.

And then I wake up.

Not screaming, not crying. No sitting bolt upright. I just…wake up. Eyes fluttering open, only half way aware that I'm clutching at the burning, stinging claim mark on my throat. It throbs beneath the palm of my hand, white hot. Like someone's just re-opened an old wound, or taken a red hot poker and branded me with it. I wince, blinking, scanning the area. I'm in bed on my stomach, drenched in sweat. Sheets tangled around my legs, pillows scattered across the mattress, the breeze from the open French doors fanning across my damp brow and cooling it instantly.

Chest tightening, I roll over onto my back and sit up, wide eyes taking in the room around me. Still on our honeymoon. This is still the hotel room. But this time, there isn't anything off. There isn't anything missing. Well apart from my husband, who definitely isn't lying in bed with me right now. But unlike before in my dream, I can sense him nearby. Know he can't have gone far.

And even though I know that… Even though logically I understand that he can only be one of two places, I call out for Spike anyway, my voice hoarse, a little bit strained. I don't know why. My eyes are still compulsively scanning the room, checking for anything that might be off. Odd. And then I relax a tiny bit, more than a little relieved when he answers me, stepping into the room from the open doors leading out to the balcony rather than from the bathroom. His face is angled, pale and smooth, and clear. No sign of the spectacles I'd seen in the reflection in my dream. My eyes shoot toward his hands, noting that they're empty.

So, no poetry book. No glasses.

No naked.

The vampire is only half dressed, true, but still. Dressed. No t-shirt, but the low slung black denim is still clinging to his alabaster hips like a second skin, silhouetted, looking extra form fitted in the moonlight streaming in behind him.

His brow is deeply creased in worry, eyes sweeping me for any sign of injury as he asks instantly, "What is it?" He takes an impulsive step further into the room. "What's wrong?"

But I just shake my head. Nothing about this feels wrong.

Not this time.

"Nothing," I murmur, dropping my hand away from the stinging mark at the curve of my throat. "Nothing now."

My vampire just gazes at me, one thumb hooked through the belt loop of his dark jeans, the other braced high against the door jamb. His eyes scan my face, then down to my neck. Slowly back up again. He frowns and asks, "Are you alright?"

I don't know the answer to that question just yet, so I go with the easier one. "Yeah," I say softly. Then clear my throat, and again, a little louder. "I…yeah, I'm fine."

It might be a lie. I don't know for sure yet. I swing my legs over the side of the massive bed and stand up, wrapping the sheet around me and bringing it with me as I do.

Spike watches me approach him, warm, shining azure eyes never wavering from mine.

"The nightmare again?" he asks as I pass him, walking out onto the moonlit balcony, eyes turned out, focused on the outcropping of rocks just head. The waves strike them in off beat patters, ocean spray catching on the breeze and whipping back toward us.

I feel the vampire's presence beside me and inhale, exhaling the salt scented air through pursed lips.

"It was just a dream," I tell him, echoing his own words to me from before. From my dream. So, not his words…his dream words. Or my dream words. How does that subconscious thing work, exactly? And besides, it's not a lie. But not the whole truth either. I _had_ had the nightmare again.

The normal nightmare.

I'd just had another equally wiggy one right afterward.

Spike's probably sensed my half-truth, because he just eyes me warily, leaning forward to brace his forearms over the balcony railing. He raises a semi-skeptical brow at me. "Yeah? Feels like a bit more than just a dream."

His eyes light on the still-stinging mark on the curve of my throat.

And as his eyes meet mine again, I realize he might be right. That maybe, ya know, it _had_ been more than just a dream. But I don't even understand _what_ my dream had been about, what it had meant. If it had meant anything at all. And the last thing I want to do right now is bother him, or worry him for no good reason. My Buffy brain's been known to conjure up some pretty whacky stuff before, anyway. How am I supposed to know if this dream had been something worth wigging over or if it had been that massive blue cherry slurpee from the 7-11 we'd stopped at on the way here for gas?

It's with these thoughts in mind that I step closer to him, nudging him with my shoulder and murmuring, "Scooch."

Spike's expression melts from one of casual skepticism to wry amusement, his eyes glittering and lips quirking a slightly as he obeys, stepping back a little ways from the balcony railing.

I situate myself in front of him with my back to his chest, safely tucked between his arms when he lowers his hands back down to the railing.

The breeze picks up again, and I shiver, Spike leaning a little closer to me in response. It's hardly warm out here, and the bed sheet wrapped around me isn't exactly a wind breaker. And February isn't exactly spring, even in southern California. Spike's arms tighten a little around me, squeezing me securely between the steel grip of his biceps and forearms. A moment later he leans his head forward, resting his chin on top of my shoulder. We stand like this for a little while. At some point I reach up and start fidgeting absently with the silver band on his ring finger, eyes still focused out on the rocks and the water.

It's a habit, and a bad one. Not because Spike doesn't like when I do it, because actually, I think he does. He gets all chest rumbly and purry when I toy with his ring. It's a bad habit because it's a dead giveaway. At least to him.

I only do it when I'm trying to distract myself.

And right on cue, like he realizes it as soon as I've had the thought, Spike sighs, turning his nose into the side of my neck, nuzzling against me. Then he whispers, "Are you _really_ alright?"

I suck in a deep breath, hold it for a minute, then let it back out slowly. Really thinking about the answer this time before I give it to him.

It was just a dream.

Just a stupid, meaningless, blue slurpee fueled dream.

So I curl my fingers into his, clicking the bottom of my wedding ring against the top of his, and nod once. "I'm perfect."

Because I am. Right now, here. With him. His arms boxing me in, squeezing me gently as we look out across the moonlit ocean cove. Almost like normal people might. Just the two of us. Two whole days spread out in front of us for us to _be_ just the two of us. No Slaying. No research. No planning. Just good old fashioned, quality, honeymoons-style alone time.

Yeah.

I'm perfect.

A beat passes between us, silent except for the crashing of the waves on the rocks. Then, "Wanna talk about it?"

I turn in Spike's arms, tipping my head back a little so I can look into his face. "If that's what I wanted we could have just stayed at home."

He smirks at me, asking, "That right?" I smile up at him and nod, a flutter of heat passing between us as his smirk widens. A low, rumbling heat starts up in my stomach again as he reaches up to gently twist a section of my hair around his index finger. Narrowing his eyes, tilting his head to the side, he asks, "What is it my wife wants, then?"

I answer him by stepping forward onto my tip toes and crushing my lips to his.

I'd been the one to call down to order the room service in the early Saturday afternoon, even though the room we're staying in is technically under Spike's…er, William's, name…courtesy of Willow. I don't know exactly how she'd managed to hack the resort's computer system but I hadn't exactly been about to question it, considering it was way nicer than I think we ever could have normally afforded. The room service alone…yeesh.

I'd ordered both of us burgers and fries off laughably extensive room service menu, even though Spike insisted he didn't need anything. He'd made sure to pack himself plenty of "snacks" before we'd left the house the night before. I'd ignored him and ordered him his own anyway, mostly because I'd known half my fries would have ended up in his stomach if I hadn't, where they'd be doing nobody any good.

And then on a whim, I'd decided to order us a bottle of wine. No, we might not be in Napa…the eight hour drive had been just a little too long for a quick weekend getaway…but that didn't mean we couldn't still do the wine thing, right?

" _Not a problem,"_ the chirpy little front desk lady had told me when I'd asked. _"What kind do you want?"_

" _Umm, I don't…"_ I'd trailed off, tucking the phone against my shoulder to muffle the receiver and raising my eyebrows at Spike for help.

" _Bloody hell,"_ he'd grumbled at me good naturedly, tossing his previously discarded t-shirt at me from across the room, _"do I look like I know jack about wine?"_

I'd bit my tongue on that even as my mind's eye was flooded with images of the softer version of him I'd seen in my dream, thinking that he probably knows more about wine than he'd be willing to admit to, turning my attention back to the phone and telling the nice woman—Cindy—that whatever she recommended would be just fine.

She'd agreed cheerily, saying, _"We'll have that up to your room right away, Mrs. Pratt."_

I hadn't known exactly what to say to that, it being the first time anyone had called me that…seriously. So I'd stammered some sort of awkward reply, a mumbled thank you, and hung up. When I'd turned to glance back at Spike, he'd had this wide, goofy grin on his face. And then he'd promptly tackled me back down to the bed.

Several hours, a smashed side mirror, broken buffet table and a wrecked overstuffed chair that isn't nearly as sturdy as it looks (and which I still haven't quite figured out how we're going to pay for) and one majorly long, way needed shower later, we're back nestled in the huge king sized bed together. The sun high in the sky, its light kept well away from us by the fluttering cloth awning stretched over our small balcony.

With wet hair and deliciously drained muscles, comfortably sore everywhere you should be sore on your honeymoon, I rest back against the bed's headboard and a pile of fluffy feather pillows. A massive room service plate of slightly cold food in front of my crossed legs, one of Spike's silky button downs buttoned loosely down my front and a too full glass of whatever wine Cindy had apparently recommended in my hand.

It's red.

Not that that really means anything. I mean, it doesn't. It's wine. It's…alcoholic grape juice. But for some reason it bugs, that the wine she'd chosen for us is red wine. A deep, burgundy color that runs just a little thick, and has been sitting in my untouched glass for nearly an hour now. I haven't been able to bring myself to drink it. All it does is make me think of my dream.

Spike's right hand rests casually on my leg, tracing vague little patterns over the curve of my inner thigh as he picks at the food he doesn't actually need in front of him. His eyes are on the large TV screen across the room, nestled into a wooden armoire, the volume down much too low for my ears but apparently high enough to catch and keep my husband's attention.

Suddenly, he asks, "Still frettin' over that dream?"

My eyes shoot toward him, going wide.

"No," I say immediately, realizing only after I've said it that it's another lie. Or...a sort of lie. Not really, I guess, since technically he's asking about the other nightmare, the usual nightmare, and not the new ultra wiggy one I can't seem to stop thinking about. Chewing absently on the end of a French fry that suddenly tastes too greasy, I swallow hard and push my plate away, my appetite suddenly gone. I stare at the food, then back down into the deep crimson liquid filling my glass. Suddenly feeling a little nauseated, I reach over to set the glass down on the nightstand beside me. "I've just been thinking."

I turn back to face the vampire lounging languidly on his side next to me, his own hair damp and slicked back, scratches and faint little bite marks gracing the solid muscles of his shoulders and down to his biceps. Marks left there by me at his husky, carnal urging, gruff demands made under the pulsing stream of the rainfall shower head of the suite's bathroom.

I swallow at the sight now, remembering how I'd let him make those demands of me without question, relishing in his obvious enjoyment of me taking possession of him as much as in my own. All the while, images from my dream had flashed in my head, driving me forward.

"Uh oh," Spike teases, swallowing a large bite of the grossly rare burger and leaning his head back to meet my eyes. "Dangerous past time, that." Seeing the serious look on my face, feeling the tension coiling through my muscles, the wry smirk melts off his face. He clears his throat and asks, "What about?"

I look at him thoughtfully, then look down into my lap. Watch his hand making play across my bare skin. And the answer is there. The _question_ is there. Right there, on the tip of my tongue. The words. The small thought, the little niggle that's been at the back of my mind since early, early this morning. Since waking up. The feeling I'd gotten from my dream. It's right there, just behind my clamped lips, waiting to be asked.

 _Have you ever thought about turning me?_

I could just ask. Just ask, get it out there. Deal with whatever consequences might come. Like the fact that he could tell me yes. Yes, he's thought about it. Yes, he wants to. Yes, and what do I think about an eternity together?

I don't think I'm ready to hear that.

Or worse, he could say no. That he _hasn't_ thought about it.

And I don't think I'm ready to hear that either.

So I jump, tuck and roll off that Ozzy-style crazy train of thought and force my mind into other, safer, albeit possibly just as contentious waters.

"I was talking to Giles before we left. About the trip," I begin slowly, not meeting his eyes. Not needing to in order to feel him tensing beside me at the mere mention of the trek we'll be making to Europe next week. Eyes still down, I continue casually, "We're gonna be in London for a couple days, before Italy. I didn't know if maybe you wanted to—"

"No."

That has my eyes snapping over to his, a burst of frustration flashing between us both. "You didn't even let me finish."

He raises a brow at me. "Don't rightly need to."

"When was the last time you went home?" I press him, undaunted. Thinking that if I can ask him my questions quick enough he might slip up and accidentally answer instead of freezing up and shutting me out.

"We've talked about this," he sighs, exasperated, pulling his hand away from my leg and rolling over onto his back.

"Not really," I argue, watching him as he shuts his eyes like he's only half listening to me. "You won't talk about it. And every time I bring it up you do that."

"Do what?" he asks, eyes still closed, the bridge of the connection growing fuzzy as he tries to flood it, to hide how quickly his frustration and impatience is growing with me.

"You get all huffy and grr," I accuse him heatedly.

Spike's eyes fly open again, turning his head toward me. They're softer now, his brow furrowed as he scans my face. "You ask too many sodding questions, sweetheart."

The pet name only softens the sting of his words a tiny bit.

I twist my torso around so I can see him better, leaning my weight down onto the palm of my hand to ask, "Has it ever occurred to you I wouldn't need to ask so many questions if you'd just talk about it?"

He growls low in his throat, a short, impatient sound. Narrows bright blue eyes on me. "Where is all this comin' from all of a sudden? You only started askin' after we started planning' this Godforsaken trip. Why so curious about dear old William now?"

"I'm not curious about him, I'm curious about _you_ ," I counter heatedly, and it's the truth. "I just…" I let the words trail off, closing my lips around them having only halfway realized what I'd been about to say. I shift back into the pillows and clamp my lips shut, rubbing them together.

Beside me, Spike sighs. "You just _what_?" he asks, voice hard.

"I just want to understand you better," I admit finally, my eyes turned down toward a stray, fraying strand of fabric at the bottom of the shirt I'm wearing. I pluck at it distractedly, winding it tightly around my index finger. And I realize only as I'm saying the next words how very, very true they are. "I want to really know you."

Spike softens at that.

Immediately, like someone's snapped their fingers. Visibly, physically, the hard, clipped edge that had been flooding the connection between us before softening and growing warm instead. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and twists toward me. "You do know me, luv," he whispers, sliding the tips of his fingers beneath my chin, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to look at him. "You know me."

"No, I know…" I trail off again, sighing, pulling my chin out of his hand. "That's not what I mean."

His eyes flash.

"Bloody hell, then what _do_ you mean?" he asks me on a sigh, another flicker of annoyance filtering through the words as he lets his hand fall to the mattress with a hollow thud.

"I mean it's not fair," I say, exasperated. "Okay? It's not _fair_ that we're married and mated and connected and all of this stuff, and you know everything there is to know about me. But there's still this huge chunk of who you are that I pretty much know a smidgeon more than zero about." We both soften then, our eyes glued to one another's. I shake my head, suddenly wishing I hadn't said anything at all. But entirely unable to stop now. "I don't really know anything about who you were. Or about your family, or your history, or your education that's supposedly even better than Giles's."

Spike's shaking his head before I'm even finished speaking. "None of those things are hardly worth you knowin', pet."

"Shouldn't I be the one that gets to decide that?" I ask sharply, cheeks hot. I throw my hands up and half-shout, "God, Spike, I'm your _wife_."

"Ooo," he purrs, eyes darkening again. In a flash, he's gone from slight irritation to rumbling seduction. A distraction tactic I'm pretty sure, but still an annoying amount of effective as he starts to crawl toward me, his voice a low, sensual purr. "Say it again."

I pin him with a hard gaze, shifting just out of his easy reach and up onto my knees on the mattress. Put my hand out in front of me to stop him. "I'm your wife, which means I'm entitled to nag you."

That stops him in his tracks. Scarred eyebrow shooting sky high, he deadpans, " _What_?"

"Just a little," I clarify. "About the important things."

"And your incessant badgering about a bloke who's been dead for more'n a century." He blinks at me, long lashes fluttering against pale cheeks. " _That's_ an important thing?"

"Well, yeah," I mumble, sinking down onto my heels. Feeling a little too acutely now just how incredibly sore the muscles in my legs are. "With our trip coming up. I mean, we're going to be over there anyway, and with the extra-long layover and the Councily stuff, it seems like something we should at least _talk_ about before we go. Who knows when we might be able to go back, it could be too late—"

"You know," Spike muses, cutting me off and tilting his head to the side. I get the distinct feeling he hasn't really been listening to me. "For a girl who told me not twelve hours ago that she didn't want to talk, those lips of yours are movin' an awful lot."

I frown at him, quirking a brow. "First I nag you and now you're telling me I talk too much? Boy," I mumble, affecting a slight, deliberate pout. "We really _did_ get married."

"Which reminds me," he says, leaning around me to pick my plate up, stacking it precariously on top of his. "It's been nearly a bleeding hour, plenty of time for a spry little Slayer like you to recuperate." I watch as he lifts them both into his hands, twists around to place them on top of the nightstand on his side of the bed before turning back to me, shifting sensually up onto his hands and knees. "Your husband would like to get back to shagging you now."

Just the mention of it has my muscles tightening in anticipation. But I hold my ground, as best as I can while balanced on my shins on an ultra-fluffy mattress, anyway, and shake my head. "No," I warn him, eyes glued to his as he starts to crawl lithely toward me, every slow, predatory movement dripping with sex and promise and making the dark, primal thing in me rear up and fight to rush forward. I force it back down. "No, we are not just going to avoid every argument we ever have with sex, Spike."

My vampire pauses and affects his own faux pout. Full, perfect bottom lip begging me to take it between my teeth and nibble on it. "But it's such a nice way to avoid them."

"I'm serious," I insist, but my voice isn't as strong as it was a moment ago, already melting a little under the smoldering heat of his gaze. Just like he'd expected, more than likely. So I hold my hand out feebly in front of me, like that'll do anything to stop him.

Like I actually _want_ to stop him.

"So am I," he agrees breezily, beginning to crawl toward me again. "There'll be plenty of time to chat all this out before we hop across the pond, pet. _After_ the weekend is over." He comes to a stop in front of me, gently batting my hand aside with a wry twist of his lips as he continues, " _After_ we're back at home and back to havin' zero bloody privacy."

He reaches forward and slides both his hands onto my knees on the last word, as if he'd needed the extra skin to skin contact to drive his point home. Or maybe he just wanted it to give me a little extra nudge, because I feel it instantly. Starting at the place his fingertips press against me and threading itself up, uncoiling the tense muscles in my legs, up through my belly, through my chest, until even my cheeks are flooded with the delicious, palpable heat of raw desire.

I've got to figure out how he does that, and so easily. It's like its second nature for him, controlling the connection this way. And it isn't fair.

He presses the tips of his fingers harder into me and leans forward, his mouth at my ear, and growls. A surge of white-hot lust ripples between us and my inner muscles clench in very ready, very willing, anticipation.

God, _so_ not fair.

"I know what you're doing," I tell him, but my voice is faint, even hoarser now than before with this slightly husky edge to it that I'm pretty darn sure hadn't been there a minute ago.

"Yeah?" Spike just smirks against my skin, skimming a slow line down from my ear to my collarbone with his lips. "Is it workin'?" His fingers continue to inch upward, sliding sinuously over the tops of my thighs and up to the hem of his shirt.

"No," I say immediately, and we both know it's the biggest of big, huge lies. I can't keep the shiver from rocketing down my spine when his lips close over the bottom half of his mark and he sucks at the tender skin gently. I whimper and admit, "Maybe."

Spike pulls back from me immediately, brows up. "Maybe?" he asks, mock offended.

"Maybe," I repeat, watching his eyes flicker and darken again, biting back the gasp that catches in my throat when he returns to feathering kisses over my shoulder, reaches around and hooks strong, cool hands under the backs of my thighs. I feel his grip begin to tighten, my eyelashes begin to flutter closed. And then I snap them open again, shift slightly away from him one last time. Pulling my shoulder away from his lips and pointing a finger at him, I say, "But don't think this means you're off the hook, buddy. This argument is _so_ far from over."

My vampire leans back and appraises me, dark eyes sparkling as they search mine.

"You really wanna argue?" He asks, shrugging casually. "Be my guest. Long as you can do it from flat on your back I'm easy."

And with that he flashes me a quick, tongue curling smirk, tightens his grip hard around the backs of my thighs and yanks up. I motion is lightning quick, leaving my head light and fuzzy, my cheeks flushed as I flip back onto the mattress and let out a hoarse half-giggle, sprawling ungracefully on the mattress beneath him, legs instinctively winding languorously around his waist.

Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

"Now then," Spike says conversationally, voice honeyed. He braces his hands on either side of my head and presses into me just slightly, just enough to make me ache for him, to make the air catch in my lungs. He cocks his head to one side and leans down until his lips are hovering a millimeter away from mine. "You were saying?"

Any and all thoughts of my dream, any slight hint of anxiety I might have been feeling about it, or about our little Eurotrip, or about Spike's avoidyness...it all just kind of melts away when he looks at me the way he's looking at me now.

I can't help the curve of my own mouth, smiling wanly against his, and I hook my heels more firmly into his sides and arch my hips up, effortlessly driving him fully inside me. My lips slightly parted and pressed to his, I catch his short gasp of surprise from my sudden movement and tell him, "It can wait."


	2. Chapter 2

It's the sound of the keycard in the electronic lock that rouses me. I've been napping, maybe. Honestly I don't remember falling asleep at all, but my body clock's a little off. Through the weekend we've been mostly cat napping here and there, not really ever sleeping or any kind of normal cycle, eating "dinner" at 5:00 in the morning and breakfast at 6:00 at night. It's getting close to 6:30ish now, I think. The sun's been down for forty-five minutes, maybe a little more.

I can't have been dozing for very long.

I turn my head lazily over my shoulder to take in the sight of Spike, fully dressed for the first time in two days, coming back into the hotel suite. The door clicks mechanically shut behind him and his eyes meet mine as he looks up and asks, "You ready to go, luv?"

I watch from my spot on the bed, still lounging stomach down with one feathery pillow wedged beneath my chest, exactly the way he'd left me, as the vampire gives me a look. A funny little mix of affection and annoyance flutters between us.

I just offer him small, sideways smile and say, "No."

"Can see that," he agrees, tucking the little keycard into his back jean pocket and coming further into the room. He tilts his head to the side. "Thought you were gettin' dressed. Wasn't that the deal?" I'm still half-smiling up at him as he reaches the bed and hovers there, crossing his arms over his chest and asking, "You get ready to go and I take that bleeding lead lined vault you call a suitcase down to the car?"

I make my own face at him now. The big baby.

"It _so_ isn't that heavy," I protest weakly, melting a little under his touch when he sits down on the side of the bed and reaches out to rub the back of my neck.

"Mmhm," he purrs lightly, pressing the pad of his thumb into a particularly tight muscle just below the base of my neck. I arch involuntarily up into his hand. "Where you think all these knots came from then?"

Not from lugging a suitcase, that's for sure. Not probably even from the scrape we'd gotten in on the last patrol before leaving Sunnydale on Friday night. No. Any and every delicious little achy I have now is from him, and him alone.

And he already knows that, which makes it all the more infuriating. How expertly he can play my body, whether he's causing the aches or fixing them.

Another second more and his nimble fingers have reduced me to a little puddle of Buffy goo, my head slumped forward onto the pillow in front of me. And I let out a frustrated little huffing sound when he pulls his hand away, twisting my head around so I can eye him.

"Is it totally bad of me to just wanna stay here?" I ask petulantly, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes so I can see him better.

Spike just smirks at me, pressing his palm into the mattress and leaning back onto it. "Wantin' to shirk your responsibilities, are you?"

"No," I say on a sigh, knowing the idea of staying holed up in this nice, normal honeymoon bubble of ours is all nice and good in theory, but that it isn't realistic. Not for us. "Who's shirking? Not me. I just like it here. It's…relaxing. With the ocean views and the big fluffy bed," I roll over onto my side, propping my head up with my hand and saying softly, "and the you."

Spike's eyes soften around the edges, and a tingling warmth starts in my toes and spreads upward through my legs. The teasing quality that had been in his voice before slips away for something a little bit more sincere when he reaches out to brush my hair back over my bare shoulder and says, "Can still have me back at home, pet."

"It's not the same," I mumble, dropping my eyes down to sheet wrapped around me.

And it's not.

Nothing's the same back home as it's been here for the past two days. Where we're locked away in our private little bubble, where we can just be here, and just be us, and there aren't constant interruptions.

And once we get home, we have a week before we leave again. And as much as I really do want to go to Europe, as much as I honest to God think it's probably our one and only option if we ever want to figure out exactly what this connection is, or what it's for, or how to control it…I've been having a sinking feeling ever since the new nightmare that this trip isn't exactly going to be all sunshine and rainbows.

Not that I'd figured it would be anyway, what with the Council being involved, and the whole searching for Pietro like a needle in a stack of needles. Or maybe a haystack in a country full of haystacks. Whatever. Point is, I hadn't anticipated this overwhelming sense of…uneasiness that I'm beginning to associate with the trip now. It's a weird sort of hollow feeling in my gut that I can't quite place, like we're going to end up getting so much more than we bargained for. Which, sure, might just be my subconscious telling me that this is us we're talking about and somehow us always ends up getting more than we bargain for, but…still.

It's bizarre.

Not bizarre enough to call the whole thing off. Just a teensy bit with the unsettling.

Which, up tip now, I've done a pretty good job distracting myself from.

Maybe that's the real reason I'm not ready to leave the suite, with the ocean views and the fluffy bed and the Spike. Because I know the closer we get to home, the faster we get back to reality, the better chance that teensy bit of unsettled has to turn into a large bit of anxiety.

And now I've gone and spent just a smudge too long thinking about it, can feel my vampire's confusion even without having to look into his eyes.

I do anyway, offering the first excuse I can think of. "There's no privacy at home." Then, realizing the moment might be getting a little too serious again, I add, "Also, no rainfall shower. Major con."

Things lighten between us immediately.

I fight the urge to sigh in relief.

Spike chuckles, a low little rumble like it's coming from down deep in his chest, touching the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I _am_ a fan of that rainfall shower."

I raise one eyebrow at him and mumble wryly, "Don't I know it."

He chuckles again and leans forward, pressing a small kiss to the large but rapidly fading bruise he'd left over the curve of my shoulder with blunt teeth sometime or other the day before. Sometime or other in the shower, from behind. I think I may have even asked him to, but I can't really remember now.

He'd worried over it for hours afterward, thinking that he'd hurt me.

I'd promised him repeatedly that he hadn't.

Because he hadn't.

He really, _really_ hadn't.

Another slightly unsettling moment that I'd done my best to sort of just ignore.

"Can't stay here forever," Spike says suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly. I don't know. His lips are still against my skin, so have I just been dazing out again? "Got things to do, remember?"

Boy, do I. A little too well, maybe.

But I just nod, my eyes on his as he shifts back away from me.

"I know," I agree softly, enjoying this last little quiet moment in the honeymoon bubble. "Lots and lots of things. Important things. Things that were mostly my idea."

"Try _all_ your idea," he corrects me, swiveling around on the mattress and laying down beside me. Draping a strong arm around my waist, propping his head up to mirror my position. "And yet, you're the one who's diggin' her heels in and not gettin' ready to go."

I smirk at him as he tugs me closer, dropping his head down onto the pillow beside me. "Says the vampire who's getting all cuddly."

"Vampires don't cuddle," Spike insists on a small, low growl. A growl that would probably feel more menacing if he wasn't in the middle of nuzzling deeper into the pillow.

I shift my elbow out from underneath me and drop my head down beside his. Lowering my voice, reaching out to absently fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, I tell him, "You don't want to leave, either."

"I don't," he admits on a sigh, distractedly running his hand over the crown of my head. "I like the privacy here as much as you do. But one of us has to be the responsible adult, I s'pose." I can't help the snort that escapes my lips at that, and he narrows his eyes at me. Leaning a little closer, his voice a little more commanding, "And seeing as I'm your husband and you have to do as I say—"

"Let's check that attitude, buddy," I say, cutting him off and pinning him with mock glare. Even though his words just might have sent a sudden little spine tingle down my back. "We aren't in Victorian London anymore."

The spine tingle definitely hasn't gone unnoticed. Spike's eyes are still narrowed on me, but now they're doing that smoldering thing they do, growing darker. And I've only just now realized my passing comment about his hometown might have been cause for yet another argument.

I feel a little relieved when the connection stays soft and easy between us and he just says, "No, we're not."

I frown at him.

Is it just me, or did that sound a little on wistful side?

I don't get a chance to really think much into it, because Spike's already moving on.

"C'mon," he says, abruptly bringing the palm of his left hand down in a deceptively light smack across my butt a split second before leaping off the bed and back to his feet. "Out of bed with you."

Forgetting that weird little lilt to his voice from a moment ago, I start to get up.

"Fine, fine," I grumble, knowing we're probably well past check out time by now anyway. Like…five hours behind. I sit up in bed, swing my legs over the side of the mattress and make a face at my vampire. "Jeez, so bossy."

Spike cocks his head to the side, plants his hands on his hips and says, "You didn't seem to mind much last night. Or this morning, for that matter." A faux-thoughtful pause. "Or twenty minutes ag—"

"Point," I say quickly, cutting him off again as my cheeks flood with heat at the various memories. Of just how very much I hadn't minded his…bossiness this weekend. "You've made it."

And my whole body feels like its on fire now.

"You're the one who said you wanted to get home in time to do a quick patrol, sweet," Spike reminds me, his eyes gleaming in the lamplight. The smirk on his face a teasing, slightly smug one. Reading my body temperature, probably. "If we leave right now we'll just make it."

I nod, thinking that over for moment. Drop my eyes thoughtfully down to the carpet. Then, fanning my lashes up to meet his still twinkling eyes with mine, I nibble down on my bottom lip and ask in a coy voice, "Ten more minutes?"

His expression shifts then, going from smug to hungry in less than a second. And if his body heat could rise, I swear it would right now. And when he responds to me, his voice is low and full of an increasingly familiar dark kind of promise.

"I'll give you fifteen if ten of 'em are in the shower."

We've been on the road for all of fifteen minutes when I start to feel the tension creeping up into my belly. That little nudge of anxiety I'd been putting off and ignoring all weekend getting just a tiny bit more there with every mile marker we pass. Knowing that eventually all the arguments we've called a little cease fire on over the past two days are all going to come tumbling out sooner rather than later. I glance toward the speedometer, watch the needle fluctuate between 85 and 90, and toy with the idea of telling Spike he's driving too fast. Instantly decide against it.

 _Because_ that's _a sure fire way to keep us from arguing._

"You okay?" Spike asks me.

"Yep." My immediate response.

Probably too immediate.

He shifts his eyes sideways at me, voice soft. "Buffy."

I sigh and drop my head back into the headrest behind me, twisting around to face him. Fifteen minutes. That's gotta be some kind of record. "Why do you bother asking if you already know the answer?"

His eyes flicker and flash in the moonlight streaming in through the windshield, a sharp burst of pure irritation flickering to life with them. "Just because I can feel every twist and turn that tummy of yours makes doesn't mean I always know the reason for it." He faces forward again, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. "Can't read your bloody mind."

"Feels kinda like you can sometimes," I murmur, chastened.

Spike scoffs. "Believe you me, luv, I wish that were the case. Make bein' in love with you a right bit easier."

"Like being in love with you is always laughs a plenty?" I fire back, catching his narrow eyed glance with one of my own.

He turns back to face forward, attention on the oncoming traffic as we speed along the freeway. But a moment later he pulls his right hand off the steering wheel and covers my left, traces my wedding ring with his thumb.

"Which one is it, then," he urges me quietly, voice soft but laced and still thick with tension.

I let a quiet silence fill between us in the car, trying to decide if I should bring it up or not. What's really bothering me. If I should go ahead and tell him about the dream I'd had, what I think it might mean, how it's made me worry about possible unknown ramifications of our trip to Europe. I bite down on the bottom of my lip as I think about it, watching the chiseled lines of his profile in the moonlight. I'll have to eventually. I know that. But is the car the best place for that conversation? When we still have at least an hour and a half left in the drive. Which means we have an hour and a half left of the honeymoon weekend.

So instead of saying anything I shake my head, feeling the comfortable weight of his hand over mine and tell him, "I don't want to argue right now, Spike."

This has his eyebrows going up, dark, unreadable eyes shifting back toward me again as he asks, "And you already know it'll be an argument, do you?"

"If it's one of the big two?" I ask, raising my own eyebrows in return. "Survey says; yes."

This does a little to lighten things again, and my vampire nods, turning back toward the road. "Ah," he says knowingly, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. He's still rubbing his thumb gently back and forth over the silver band on my ring finger. "The big two."

That's just what I'd taken to calling them. The two main arguments we have, over and over again. Or I guess not the two main arguments, but the two main causes for the arguments. Not that arguing with Spike is anything new. With both of us being Olympic level stubborn, added to the fact that to the two of us always seem to think that our opinion is the right one…well, it's like it's coded into our DNA or something. Written somewhere in the proverbial stone the connection itself is proverbially written on. I get that we're meant to be all with the perfectly matched and "two halves of one whole" and everything but…they couldn't have given us this one teeny tiny break?

Whoever _they_ are.

But the big two had been one of thee other reasons we'd desperately needed a weekend away from everything. The harsh reality of planning a trip that's sort of a big, massive deal and that Spike doesn't feel invested in at all, and then there's the move. The plan to move into a place of our own. Which I _totally_ still want to do. And we _will_ do. Just…I haven't been ready. Between Mom's head and the doctor's check ups and the Hellmouth and the Pietro thing…I _just_ haven't been ready.

And patience has never been one of my husband's virtues.

"Yeah," I mumble now, letting my eyes flutter shut and trying to focus all my attention on the gentle ministrations of his hand rather than the steadily increasing pit of doom building itself into my stomach. "Can we just _not_ talk about either of them right now?"

"Don't be pointin' fingers at me, pet." And at the mention of fingers, he opens his hand and threads his through mine. I let him. "Of the two of us, which one was complainin' about the lack of privacy at your mum's house not an hour ago?"

That has me lifting my head off the seat again, opening my eyes and snapping my gaze toward his. "So you're assuming it's about the move?"

"Ha. So it _is_ about the trip," Spike says blithely, like he's caught me.

It bugs.

I frown at him.

"No, it's not about…" I trail off, reevaluate that statement, then correct myself. "It's not _just_ about the trip." He doesn't say anything to that. Just sends me a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I sigh, a brief, flashing image of the mirrored reflection of Spike's human self blinking into my mind's eye, reigniting the curiosity I'd spent the better part of the last day and half forcing down. "Look, okay, I know I said we should be all on the same page about it or whatever but I'm…starting to re-think that."

The vampire leaves his hand entwined with mine, but I can feel his muscles stiffen. The link between us and his voice growing cold as he asks, "That right?"

"That's right," I counter, but I've lost a little steam already. That curiosity is still there, pinpricking along my skin in inexplicable goose bumps, but it's clear by the way Spike's acting that he's on edge now because he's expecting me to bring up the whole William thing again. And honestly, obviously, I think that I'd been going to. But as soon as I'd felt that slight coolness from beside me I'd found myself balking a little, maybe not ready to dive right back into that just yet. In all honesty, probably not ready to think too much about what him popping up in my dream had meant, or what the words and actions that had followed could actually mean.

So I clear my throat and go a different direction all together. "Like this so called 'deal' of yours. It's totally unfair."

If he's surprised by the sudden shift in subject, he doesn't show it.

"I believe my 'totally unfair' deal is what you lot call a compromise," Spike replies evenly, just a little less coolly than he'd spoken a moment ago. There might be a hint of relief there, too.

And there's more than a hint of it in my voice when I ask, "Explain to me how you and Giles ganging up on me and getting everything you want is a compromise?"

"You want to go to Europe and track down Pietro." A beat as he shifts his gaze up to the rearview mirror and switches lanes. We're still driving too fast. "We're doin' that."

I narrow my eyes at him even though he isn't looking at me, warming more fully now to my change in subject. "With a two week time limit."

And it is actually something that's' been bothering me, so bringing it up now totally doesn't count as a lie.

"Compromise," Spike reiterates smugly. "'Sides, it's only fair. Can't leave the old man here to fend off the nasties all on his lonesome forever."

This is the answer he's given me before. The excuse he'd given me when he and Giles had first decided we should put a countdown on our search, limit it to a strict fourteen days. The key words there? He and Giles. I hadn't been included anywhere in that particular decision, and it's been bugging me ever since. Off and on, sometimes more buggy than others. Normally, though, it isn't enough to provoke a truly angry response from me because somewhere deep down I've always known the real reason for the two weeks. I'd known from the moment he'd told me that it had come from a place of genuine, if not completely and _totally_ misguided, concern for my safety.

But hearing it again tonight, and spoken so dismissively, it's enough to make my temper flare. Maybe it's because he's been dodging or making up excuses for almost all of my questions about the trip since we'd first started planning.

Or maybe it's because I need an excuse to be frustrated because I don't feel like it's fair of me to be frustrated at him over the real reason I'm frustrated at him because I know it isn't rational. How can it be Spike's fault that I'd had a dream about him wanting to turn me? How can it be his fault that the question keeps popping up in my head, but I'm the one too stubborn or too nervous or too… _whatever_ it is I am to ask him about it?

It can't be, that's how.'

But this. This can be. This _is_.

"I never said I needed forever," I bite out impatiently, but slowly. It takes a little effort to keep my voice low and even. "I just need more than two weeks."

Spike sighs, his own temper picking up steam alongside mine. His jaw clenches and he begins to give me the company line again. "If we can't find the blighter in two weeks, pet, it's more'n likely because there's nothin' left to find."

"You keep saying that like it's a good thing," I snap, temper burning again, hotter this time. Like a little white hot solar flare between us as I pull my hand out of his abruptly, folding my arms tight across my chest. "God, it's like you don't even _want_ to find him."

And as soon as I've said it I know I shouldn't have.

Spike turns to look at me again, lips pursed, cheeks hollowed out and eyes hard. Because I've touched a nerve. Because I'm right.

Because that _is_ the real reason. He doesn't want to find Pietro. Not really. Not because he doesn't want answers, I know he does, but because he can't seem to get past his concern for me long enough to remember that I'm more than capable of holding my own. Even against violent, reckless Slayer slayers like him.

I grit my teeth, inhale a deep breath through my nose and let it back out through my mouth. Then, more quietly now, "Two weeks might not be long enough, Spike."

"Remember when it was just gonna be one?" He reminds me, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Christ, give you an inch and you take a bloody mile."

I blink at him, anger pouring between us now. It's a full on rolling boil, bubbling high and hot in my chest as I say, "I'm not trying to take a _mile_ , just an extra couple wee—"

But I'm cut off, and I have just enough time to remember that this, _this_ is why I shouldn't have brought up the part about not actually finding Pietro just as a fresh wave of possessiveness shoots down my back, and I can feel it happening a split second before it actually does.

"That's _enough_ ," Spike snarls at me suddenly, zero to sixty, stopping me in mid-sentence with a feral sort of fierceness I'm frankly just not used to. His eyes flash golden on the heels of the command, causing the words to catch in my throat. "You're gettin' two, and that's bloody final."

Where my mouth had been open a moment before, now it snaps shut in response to the command. The words I'd been about to say getting lose somewhere in the back of my throat. But that's okay. I'm not sure I could speak right now even if I felt free to.

This is the fourth time this has happened when Spike obviously hasn't meant for it to. It's an accident, I know. It only ever happens when he gets like this. Angry. Or not angry, but…angry because he's scared, or worried.

But it's been getting worse. Harder to control, maybe. We used to be able to choose when or if we wanted to use that tone of voice. But it's been happening more frequently lately, and always by accident. Never fully unspoken, not like that one horrible command had been that night in the sewers. Not like they always seem to be in my nightmares.

But just as strong.

And I mean, no, he's not the only one it happens to. It's happened with me, too. In the heat of some argument or other, off the cuff, a sudden command I hadn't even meant to make.

I've done it to him, too.

Just not as often.

And it's never as powerful.

And now, just like the four other times before now, I see the instant, twisting pain of regret wash over his face. Like someone's snapped their fingers, every trace of anger from just seconds before fades out of his blazing eyes and they shift back to swirling indigo. I watch from my side of the care as his brow furrows, as his wide, horrified eyes frantically search mine for a moment before he's forced to look forward again.

"Spike," I say softly, reaching over to put my hand on his arm.

But before I can ask what he's doing, we're taking the next available exit, swerving down onto the off ramp toward downtown Los Angeles and powering down a short stretch of darkened street before we suddenly come to an abrupt stop. I watch as Spike slams the car in park, then twists around in the long bench seat to cup my face in his hands. He's hauling me toward him before I can think to protest, even weakly, crushing his lips to mine.

He kisses me breathless, his tongue sweeping over mine in needy, wordless apology. Not fierce or demanding but soft and sweet, the opposite of what the harsh bark of a command had been. Like he can counterbalance the two somehow. Wipe the first one out all together.

When he pulls away his strong hands are still cradling my cheeks, and he drops his forehead against mine.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and I can feel how much he means it. Every sweep of his thumb across my cheekbone sends a ripple of how very much he means it across my skin. "Didn't mean to…"

"I know," I say immediately, nodding gently against him, my lips swollen from the pleading kiss he'd left on them. My heart aching painfully where it's tightening inside my chest. Hurting for his hurt. For how much I know he's hating himself right now. And hurting because I'd pushed him when I'd maybe known better.

I push through the connective link between us, trying to relax him again. Calm him down. Tow tingling warmth that I can feel picking up and threading between us the longer we sit her e like this, lightly touching.

The one thing I don't do is tell him that it's okay, though. I want to. I know it would go the furthest in making him feel better, but still I don't.

Because it's not.

After what feels like a long time but in reality has probably only been a couple minutes, the tension releases. I watch Spike close his eyes, shake his head, then breathe out a strained sounding, " _Fuck,_ I don't know what it is about this bloody trip that makes me so…"

"Unreasonable?" I supply for him, consciously lightening my voice. "Misogynistic?" A beat. "Annoying?"

"Hush, you," Spike grumbles back.

But his lips are curving up in a small smile now.

"You know this is why we have to go, right?" I ask softly after another few quiet moments have passed.

It's too dangerous not to understand, or know how to control it.

Spike groans and shifts a little ways away from me, though he doesn't let go of my face. "Really not in the mood for an 'I told you so', Slayer."

"Check. No 'I told you so's here." I lean forward and kiss him lightly, then maneuver myself away from him as he puts the car back in the drive and begins to pull away from the curb. "What about a 'see, this is why I didn't want to argue'. Is that allowed?"

"Cheeky bint," Spike murmurs as he begins driving down the, what I'm now just noticing, is a surprisingly busy street. I wonder dimly if any innocent passers by had gotten a big old eyeful of our little make out session earlier as I take a minute to glance around our surroundings.

"I'm just saying," I tell him, glancing distractedly out of my window. "I didn't want to spend the last couple hours of our honeymoon being all snippy with each other..."

I let the thought trail off and frown, suddenly feeling uneasy again.

A different kind of uneasy than before on the freeway, or back at the hotel.

This is…Slayer senses uneasy. Like we shouldn't be here. Or maybe like we _should_ be here, I guess. Like there should be vamps around here somewhere. But as I look around, glancing out Spike's window, and then mine, I don't see anything. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. It's mostly quiet, and empty. Not really anyone around at all.

Is that why something feels off?

"How would you rather spend it?" Spike asks me, but I barely hear him.

Because there, just up ahead, a few yards away from where we're driving down the opposite end side of the street. I spot them. Vampires. A whole cluster of them, moving in a quick, tight group, almost like a weird oblong circle.

"Hey," I murmur, consciously lowering my voice even though from this distance there's no way they could hear me. I point toward them, waiting for Spike's gaze to focus in on them too. He frowns and decelerates the car's speed slightly. I watch through narrowed eyes as they disappear down a long, narrow alleyway squeezed between what look like two semi-abandoned high rises. I tell Spike to stop the car a little ways down below the alley, across the street, a safe enough distance away that we can get a good, long look down into it and not be spotted.

I crane my neck to the side to watch them through my window, wondering why they're moving in such a weird pattern. It's hard to see exactly what they're doing from here, but it has all my Slayer tingles on flashing, red alert.

I twist back around to fix my vampire with a knowing look, tilting my head in the direction of the alleyway. "That look suspicious to you?"

"It does at that," he agrees, squinting his eyes and leaning forward to get a batter look through my window, too. Then his eyebrows shoot up, the corner of his mouth dipping down into a confused half-frown.

I turn back around to see what it is he's making that face at and notice that they've stopped now, the group of them, in the middle of the alley way. One of them picks up one of the large metal trash cans and throws it out of their way, while another lifts a second one up and shakes it's contents out across the cement in another oblong circular shape. The rest of them start pulling out and shaking long, shiny…well, they just kind of look like metal tubes from here. And maybe the most bizarre thing? I don't see any frightened, screaming would-be-dinners.

This isn't exactly normal vamp behavior.

"They're just trashing the place. And...vandalizing." I squint my eyes and lean a little closer to the window. "Is that spray paint?"

Spike chuckles appreciatively and I can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, "Looks like fun."

I pause, blinking and rolling my eyes up to the ceiling.

"Looks like property damage," I murmur, turning to cast him a deadpan glance over my shoulder.

The vampire just shrugs. "You say tomato…"

I roll my eyes and turn back around, shaking my head, zeroing in on the odd little vampire cluster again. Things have shifted a little. While they've definitely spray painted…something up on the edge of the alley wall in red spray paint, I can't tell exactly what, now I'm able to see something else they're weird little cluster formation had kept me from spotting before.

People.

Two of them to be exact. Directly in the middle of the off shape circle of vampires, and looking more than a little freaked. A man and a woman, clinging to each other, wide eyed glances shifting back and forth amongst the vampire surrounding them.

"What do you think?" I ask Spike, keeping my eyes trained on the frightened couple. "Can you read my mind now?"

There's a flooding rush of adrenaline surging over the connection, and then the next to immediate answer from just behind me. "End the honeymoon festivities with a little death and destruction?"

I turn back just long enough to flash my husband a wide, bright smile. Then I reach forward to pop the glove box, snatch two stakes out and snap it shut again.

"Come on," I say, tossing one to him.

Spike catches it effortlessly, grins back at me and breathes, "God, I love you."

We exit the car silently, careful to shut the doors with as little noise as possible and step up onto the dilapidated sidewalk side by side, crossing the space between where Spike's parked the car and the open end of the alleyway in no time. We've looped down and around to avoid the vamps spotting us.

"Ready?" I ask on a whisper, hovering in a crouched position just below the mouth of the alley.

Spike just nods and says, "You're runnin' point, luv."

Well, good. Nice to know we're on the same page here at least.

I lead the way into the alley with Spike close behind me, coming to a stop with about ten feet between us and the vampire circle. Funnily enough, it's the people at the center of the circle that seem to notice our presence first. They don't say anything, but then again, it's probably hard to say anything when you've been gagged.

So, again. This is seriously not normal vamp behavior.

I just nod at them in what I'm hoping is a reassuring way, then focus my eyes up again. Still, no reaction. They're too busy arranging things, half of them turned out in the circle and finishing the massive spray painted symbol, the other half focused on arranging the elements of the circle on the dirty ground.

A flicker of irritation flushes my cheeks, and I frown, fighting the urge to turn back around and meet Spike's eyes again. I mean…hello? Slayer. Mythical warrior for good. Duster of vampires. Standing right here. Aren't I supposed to give these guys some sort of mystical heebie jeebies or something?

Tucking my stake securely into my waistband, I angle my body a little more in front of Spike's and clear my throat impatiently, waiting as the noise seems to finally alert these sorry excuses for vampires to my presence. The realization is slow, though. I watch as they each glance toward one another, slowly stopping whatever it is they've been doing and finally turning their glowing eyes and ridged brows in my direction.

And from here, with them all now facing me, it's easier to tell that they're all dressed in dark, heavy looking robes. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

Do these guys even know how massive a cliché they are?

"Finally," I mutter under my breath, crossing my arms over my chest.

The sound of my voice jars them to action.

One of the vamps, a tall one standing in back with hunched shoulders, long, stringy black hair and a nasty jagged scar that stretches across the entire side of his face, pushes himself to the front of the circle. His eyes drag over me slowly, one dark, nearly black, the other milky white and obviously sightless, then over my shoulder to take in Spike behind me.

He's tall enough that he towers over me.

"You dare disturb the Ophidian Rite?" he asks me, twisted mouth curving down and his yellow, snake like eyes flashing. His voice is this weird mix of being way too loud and also really low and gravelly, like the worst kind of smoker.

"Oh no," I murmur, eyes going wide in faux embarrassment. "Are we interrupting something?"

The vampires in front of us very clearly have no idea what's going on. If they've sensed that either Spike or I are a little more super than we are natural, none of them says anything. In the middle of their circle, the frightened couple is still clinging to one another. From here I can see the tear streaks on the woman's face.

"You will pay for your insolence, _girl_ ," Scarface hisses, literally…hisses, and his eyes flash again.

I choose to ignore him rather than point out how many times I've heard _that_ one before, opting instead to cock my head to the side, eyeing the ugly red spray painted symbol on the side of the building and say, "Ooo, fancy. What do you think, sweetie?"

Spike makes a show of stepping up beside me, carefully considering the symbol as well. Then he shrugs. "You know these all look the same to me, pet."

I nod and turn back to appraising the symbol. "Personally I like my graffiti with just a few less demonic undertones. But, ya know, it's nice."

Beside me, Spike chuckles. My lips twitch up at the corners. There's a strong surge between the two of us as we meet and lock eyes one last time.

And then we move at the same time, not giving anyone or anything a chance to get a word or another vague threat in edgewise, and the narrow alleyway explodes into chaos. I take the right, Spike takes the left; our unspoken rule whenever we're dealing with more than one baddie at a time. Practiced. Fluid. As easy and as natural and as _right_ as breathing. The link flares to vibrant, pulsing life, a very real connective tether between us as we move toward our opposite sides of the alley.

I yank the stake out of my waistband and plunge it forward, straight through the chest of the first of Scarface's flunkies to fly at me. He'd leapt toward me without a second thought or moment of hesitation. Obviously, these mooks are still totally clueless.

Freshly irritated, I launch myself through the cloud of dust and head straight for the next snarling vamp, who throws an uppercut my way that's not quite as sloppy as I'm expecting, though I still manage to block it. I've blocked it with my stake-wielding arm though, so I don't have a choice but to punch him as hard as I can with my left fist in the middle of his ridged forehead to knock him far enough away from me to get my leverage back. He counters with a kick to my chest that I catch between both my hands. His eyes go wide, and I shake the hair out of my face and flash him a bright smile. Then, bending my knees for maximum power, I use my grip on his foot to flip him backwards and send him careening into the robed vampire just behind him. He growls at me and scrambles back to his feet as fast as he can, but I'm faster, standing there with stake in hand before he can get fully upright.

The one I'd knocked him into scrambles to his feet, too. Snarls at me. Then promptly turns on his heel and takes off back down the alleyway, disappearing around the corner. I toy for maybe a half second with the idea of going after him, but then I remember the gagged man and woman that had been standing in the center of the circle. The tear tracks on the frightened woman's face. Feeling momentarily stricken, a little queasy, that I'd managed to forget I whirl back toward them and nearly collide with a female vamp I hadn't noticed before. She gnashes her teeth and hisses, dropping into a defensive stance, but doesn't throw herself at me like her two little friends had before.

So maybe getting a little less clueless now?

Even so, all it takes is one fierce backhand from me to send her sprawling to alley floor, and I leap over her, heading back toward the center of the makeshift circle.

On the other end of the alley, I hear Spike laugh. I don't bother to glance his direction; I don't need to, instead continuing on with my own fight.

One perk of the connection growing so much stronger. I don't even need to see him to know where he is, to know how insanely easily he's just beheaded the vampire nearest to him. The deft movements of his hand as he pulls out his own stake and shoves it through the heart of the next. All the while, pure, undiluted pleasure rippling toward me.

I reach the couple and drop down to my knees in front of them, noticing now that I'm this close that not only had they been gagged, but also bound at the wrists with something gauzy and softly patterned. Like…nylon, but not. I frown, deciding not to spend too much time dwelling on it and deftly untying the knots around both their wrists, murmuring low words that I hope are soothing, explaining to them that everything's going to be fine now. That as soon as I get them free they need to run as fast as they can in the other direction. They nod like they understand me, which is good, because I have a feeling something not so pleasant is looming just behind my back when the woman's eyes suddenly go wide all over again. I yank the last piece of weird, creepy rope away, tell them to run, and leap back to my feet.

I'm utterly unsurprised to find Scarface standing in front of me when I turn around.

"Slayer," he growls, one feral yellow eye flashing at me, the milky white one glazed and cold as he lunges forward. A little clumsily, he's just a little bit too tall, and he misses me by an inch when I dodge under his arm.

He whirls back around to face me, snarling, and I offer him a wide, saccharine sweet smile.

"That's me," I quip, spinning around, kicking him hard across the face with the heel of my boot. "Don't really know how you missed that."

He roars loudly in blind pain and moves for me again, and I'm not quite as quick this time. Distracted by the sudden blunt pain across my jaw that hits me with enough force to turn my head to the side in time to spot Spike shaking out his own jaw from the hit he's just taken and vamping out. By the time I turn back forward again, I don't have time to catch Scarface's foot before it's already landing squarely and incredibly forcefully into my stomach, knocking the wind from my lungs as I tumble back to the ground. For a moment I think he's about to leap onto me, but then he does that same strange thing one of his minions had done earlier. Thinking better of whatever he'd just been about to do, instead he turns and bolts toward the other end of the alley, skirting around the left corner. I watch him go from my spot on the ground, frowning and confused.

"You alright, luv?" Spike asks me, voice casual from around his fangs as he ducks a flailing punch to his cheek, reaching out to grab the vampire in front of him around the back of the neck and slamming his head into the brick wall beside him.

"I'm fine," I tell him, even though he doesn't need me to. He already knows. If he didn't, he'd have already dusted the vamp he's currently toying with now and been at my side in a split second. "I just hate it when they run."

I dust my scraped palms off and leap back up to my feet, ready to launch into a dead sprint to go after my half blind friend, when a blistering pain suddenly slashes across the curve of my left shoulder.

I cry out instinctively, briefly sidetracked by the searing ache, and by the sudden flood of panic that comes with it. For a split second, fearing the worst, I whip my head to the side in time to see Spike land an arcing kick to the chest of the same vampire he'd been fighting a moment ago. Snarling, maybe a little strained, but otherwise completely and totally fine. No gaping shoulder wound in sight.

His eyes meet mine, concern shining bright out to me from inside the glittering gold. And I realize dimly that it's me.

I'm the one who's actually hurt.

And that's when the vampire, the female that I'd backhanded earlier and left sprawled on the grimy alley floor, catches me off guard. Landing a wild punch hard enough to my jaw that it sends me spinning into the wall to my left.

My forehead smacks into the rough brick of building's side, head snapping back just as I hear Spike shout my name in warning. A thrill of brilliant fear sparks behind my eyes.

Dazed, blinking rapidly, I whirl around and press my back into the brick, hand flying out on blind instinct and catching the red headed vampire's wrist in mine just before she can get the tip of the blood stained blade of the knife in her hand into my neck.

The only problem? I've caught her with my left hand. Which would be fine, if it weren't, ya know, attached to my left arm. The arm that this vamp must have obviously sliced open at my shoulder mere seconds ago with the knife now barely inches from my pulsing jugular vein.

I can't tell which one of us it is that's shaking, me or her. Or maybe we both are. I don't know. All I do know is that my left arm is getting more and more tired by the second, and if I can't find a way to reach around and grab the knife with my right, or duck beneath her arm, or something soon, the blade is going to cut right across what I'm pretty damn sure is a fairly important piece of anatomy. From somewhere behind her head I can hear Spike, though I can't see him. Saying something that I can't quite make out. Left arm shaking wildly, my grip slipping, my eyes zero in on the red headed vampiress once more, gaze locking and holding steadily with hers.

In this instant, everything seems to shift into an echoing kind of slow motion. My blood pulses wildly, rushing in my ears and drowning out all ambient noise. All I can hear is my pulse in my veins; all I can feel is the she-vamp's chilled flesh beneath my hand, the stinging tip of the blade as it nicks my skin

And in a lightning quick movement of my own, acting on some kind of dark and deeply imbedded intuition, I reach my right hand out and grip her tightly around the throat. And squeeze.

Vampires don't breathe. They don't need to.

I know this.

So why she suddenly goes impossibly wide eyed with panic and drops the knife to the ground, goes to scrape at my hand with both of hers, digging her talon sharp nails into my hand, I have no idea.

But it's enough to make me suddenly let her go.

Or maybe let her go is a nice way of putting it. I throw her. With my one good hand, the python grip I have around her neck, I toss her unceremoniously away from me and across the open alleyway, watching her back slam into the far wall just to the left of where Spike is standing in a fresh cloud of dust. She's stunned, obviously, but not for long. I watch from my position slumped back against the wall behind me as she scrambles to her feet and takes off at a dead sprint down the street and away from us, rounding the same corner that the other members of her creepy little cult had before.

Spike's at my side a second later, cool fingers pulling lightly at the left side of my blouse where the knife had split my shoulder. I'm barely registering him, my eyes still off down the alley, staring at the place the vampiress had run off to.

"Well, that was weird," I say quietly, letting him lightly push me to the ground, crouching down in front of me so he can try to get a better look at my shoulder.

It still hurts, but I'm too distracted to notice how much.

"What was weird?" Spike asks distractedly, and I don't miss the way he winces in time with me when his fingers graze the only bared part of the gash, up close to my collarbone. "That they made a runner?"

I shake my head, because that's not it. Or not the only it, anyway. I think about that weird flash I'd seen in the female vamps eyes. How one moment they'd been so sure, so supremely confident, and the next they'd been…well, scared isn't even the right word.

Then again, everything had sort of gone wonky for me in that moment. Maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. Then again, it was kind of weird that they'd just decided to take off and run. Sure, I'm kinda scary, but vamps don't usually just turn tail and book it in the opposite direction when I'm around. It had taken me actually doing the slaying before these guys had even realized I _was_ the Slayer.

A thought occurs to me then, and I turn my head back toward Spike to ask, "Did those people make it out?"

"Saw 'em run that way," my vampire tells me, a tiny flick of his head indicating the opposite end of the alley from where the three vamps had disappeared.

I nod, relaxing a little bit.

At least they got away, too.

Spike's hands are deceptively gentle as he grips the two torn sections of my blouse and tears them further apart so he can get a clear look at my wound.

And I let him, thinking again, a little more dimly now, about the vampire. Her eyes. That flash. I still don't know what it might have been. I can't quite pin point it. And maybe it had been nothing.

I mean, it's not that I've never seen a vampire look at me and be afraid before. _Far from it._

There's another ripping sound, bringing me out of my thoughts and back into the moment just as my shoulder throbs once, the palm of Spike's hand grazing a section of the wound that's still covered by my sleeve, that he obviously hadn't seen.

"Ow," I hiss, instinctively pulling away from him, and for the first time since that vamp cut into me, I realize how much it actually hurts. Enough to stop my previous train of thought entirely.

"Sorry sweetheart," he soothes me, reaching out to secure my arm between his hands again. "It's a bit longer than I thought."

Spike finishes peeling away the last of my sleeve, tearing the entire left side off and tossing it aside. He makes a face, and I notice he's back in human guise now. His brow furrows, and a distant, bubbling rage starting somewhere in his chest as he stares at the gash. His eyes flash and darken as he growls, "Little bitch got you good."

"You're tellin' me," I mumble, wincing as I press my back a little harder into the brick wall behind me and turn my eyes down toward my arm. I can't see the top half of the cut very well, but I can just barely see where the knife had cut around and sliced over the curve of my shoulder and all the way down to about the middle of my arm. It's still bleeding, crimson streaks staining the skin all over my shoulder and arm, but it doesn't look too terribly deep.

I frown again, taking in the sight of the tattered midnight blue fabric on the dirty ground. "And I really liked this blouse."

Spike laughs a little at that, but it's strained. He's still angry, rage flickering in sharp little bursts, a pulsing sensation over my skin.

I reach my right hand out and rest it against his bent knee in an attempt to calm him down. It works a little. I don't have to be able to read his mind to know he's torn between wanting to go after the vamps that had gotten away and staying here with me.

Finally, he sighs and looks back up at me. "I can seal it for now, but might need stitches."

I groan and let my head smack back lightly against the bricks. "Again?" I ask, shifting my eyes to the side to meet his. "I _just_ got rid of the ones from the stupid cross bow bolt. I'm gonna be all Frankensteiny on this arm."

The tension in the vampire's shoulders lessens even more now that he's realized I'm not wounded badly enough to not make jokes at my own expense, and he flashes me a bright, if not slightly short lived, grin.

"This might sting a bit," Spike tells me, cool, gentle fingers still pressing lightly all around the raised flesh surrounding the wound. Then he leans forward and places the tip of his tongue against the bottom of the wound, trailing it slowly, and probably unintentionally sensually, over the long gash. A tingling, wet trail from the middle of my arm all the way up to the to the edge of my collarbone. Then he leans around and plants a quick but tender kiss to my lips, leaving behind the tiniest trace of my blood when he pulls away.

I have to fight the immediate, instinctual impulse to flick my tongue out to taste it. A flash from my nightmare, of kissing Spike with the heady taste of my blood in his mouth, hits me out of nowhere. Leaving me inappropriately dizzy and a little breathless.

I stuff that thought way back down deep where it belongs and clear my throat. And if Spike's noticed the sudden rise in my heart rate or my body heat, he doesn't say anything.

I watch him, feeling warm all over, as he stands up and extends both his hands down toward me. I grab them, careful to put most of my weight behind my good right arm, and let him tug me up to my feet.

A possessive arm snaking around my waist in a show of needless but totally appreciated support, his eyes drift back down to the ground. They narrow a little as he asks, "That the knife then?"

I follow his gaze, turning a little in his embrace to glance back over my wounded shoulder. I can smell the blood so much stronger from this angle. Thick, pungent. Just a little bit sweet. I ignore it, my tongue wiping out over my bottom lip to wet it as I nod. "Yeah."

I bend back down to pick it up, fingering the handily gingerly. Now that the imminent threat of knife-in-face is out of the way, I can actually pay attention to it. The blade is sharp, stained deep red with my blood and slightly curved downward. The handle is thick and rounded, a delicate diamond pattern carved into the bronzy metal and culminating in a vicious looking serpent's head at the base.

"It look a little ritual-y to you?" I ask, handing it over to Spike. He unwraps his arm from around my waist and takes it from me, lifting it up and gazing at it from a couple different angles.

Finally he sighs and nods. He hands it back to me and asks, "Do you recognize it?"

"No," I tell him honestly, frowning down at it again. Then shrugging, looking back to meet his eyes. "Not that I'm the best person to ask or anything."

"You're thinkin' we should bring it back to Giles?"

But I actually hadn't been thinking of Giles.

Well, not exactly.

Because we're here in downtown L.A., which isn't exactly our jurisdiction. And the creepy snake knife is obviously something freaky, and had been intended to be used in something equally as freaky. And, honestly, if the knife hadn't been enough of a giveaway that said freaky thing was more than likely going to be some kind of ritual sacrifice, then I'd say the giant wig worthy symbol on the wall behind me definitely is.

All of which are things that technically only apply to _here_.

So no, I hadn't been thinking Giles. I'd been thinking we should probably hand the creepy snake knife over to somebody who's also…here.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, already guessing in my head just how well this is gonna go over. I wrinkle my nose and say, "Sort of."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be joking," Spike growls, pulling up in front of the stately but definitely old Hyperion Hotel and promptly slamming on the breaks, throwing the DeSoto roughly into park and glaring daggers out my window.

"Does that mean you think this is funny?" I hedge cautiously, giving the vampire a smile that's somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

Those sparking, dagger glaring eyes whip to mine. Cheeks hollowed, jaw clenched. And his voice is dangerously low when he asks me, "Do I bloody well _look_ like I think this is funny?"

"I don't know," I say lightly, a blatant lie but that's beside the point. "Vampire, weird sense of humor. Sometimes I can't tell."

"Buffy."

I sink down further in my seat. Okay, so no. Obviously I know he doesn't think this is funny. Even if I couldn't feel every inch of just exactly how unfunny he thinks this is, I'd know by the near murderous look on his face.

So far though, this is still honestly a better reaction than I'd been expecting.

I sigh and do my best to calm the bleached vampire. When I speak, my voice is soft and soothing. "He's the only person I can think of in town that's equipped to deal with something like…this." I hold up the creepy snake knife for emphasis, even though it's hidden from view now, wrapped up in the torn remains of my left sleeve. I frown down at it. "Whatever _this_ is."

"And what, you just forgot to bloody mention that this so-called expert of yours works for the Great Poof himself?" Spike challenges me, not sounding or feeling any calmer than he had a minute ago.

I really need to get better at the whole controlling the connection thing. Or maybe this just isn't something that can be easily smoothed over.

Dropping the wrapped up knife back down into my lap, I wrinkle my nose guiltily and admit quietly, "Only because I knew you wouldn't agree to bring the knife here if I did."

"Right then." And he turns around, throwing the gearshift back into drive, slamming his foot down into the petal. The propulsion has my back pressing flat into the leather seat as Spike revs the engine, and I wince, crying out softly at the burning pain in my shoulder from the impact. The vampire shoots an apologetic glance my way, but he doesn't slow down.

He's mad at me.

"Spike," I scold softly, heedless of how we're driving way too fast down the street. I attempt to shift into a more comfortable position. "What are you doing?"

"I have more important things to do than pass off some silly knife to your brooding wanker of an ex and his little playmates, pet," he tells me, switching from the right lane to the left, blowing past the first red light we come up to.

"It isn't just about passing off the knife, although both I and the open wound on my shoulder would like to point out that it isn't silly." And at that, Spike takes his boot off the accelerator and the car begins to slow a little. His eyes shift back to mine, softer now, and I can tell that he's listening. So I continue to explain. "Some of those wiggy vamps are still out there. This is their city, we sort of owe it them to warn them."

Spike scoffs at that, but I notice that he comes to a complete stop at the next red light instead of plowing through it. "Oh, _them_ is it?" He says heatedly and glances my way again, his scarred eyebrow raised. "Sure you don't just mean _him_."

"They're a team," I say gently, because I can tell that I'm winning now. I can see it, I can tell, even if my precious, stubborn vampire can't quite yet. "Besides, it's like, the middle of the night. Prime dark avenging time." I shrug and gesture casually with my good hand. "He probably isn't even there."

And I actually mean it. I don't actually think Angel will be there if we go right now, which is definitely a good thing. Aside from the fact that I don't know if the two vamps can be in the same room without tearing into each other, physically or otherwise, I'm honestly not in the mood for a lecture, either. And make no mistake; there'd be one. Probably more than one. One about how Spike has obviously done something to me because I'd never fall for him otherwise, one about how I must be under some kind of love spell, and then another, once the other two have been disproven, about how Spike simply can't be trusted and how I clearly don't know what's best for me.

No. Not in the mood.

"What makes you so sure the rest of 'em are there then?" Spike grumbles, bringing my attention back to him just as he flicks on his right blinker and glances up into the rear view mirror.

I look at him and say, "Then we'll leave it on the doorstep with note."

The light turns green, and Spike maneuvers the car over two lanes of traffic and hangs a wild right hand turn. The car we've just cut off honks at us as he mutters, "Don't have a pen."

"Now you're just being difficult," I tell him, but there's nothing hard in the words or the way I'm saying them.

It's quiet for a minute. I reach for his right hand and tug it into my lap when we make another right hand turn, and I realize for sure that we're circling back around the block. Saying the words without saying them when I squeeze his hand gently.

There's a pause, a brief, stubborn moment when I watch the muscle in his jaw tick once and know there's a little internal war waging in his head.

And then he squeezes back.

Spike lets go of my hand when we pull up back in front of the hotel and he puts the car in park, a good deal less violently than the first time around, though I get the feeling he might be imagining Angel's head on the gearshift still.

"Thank you. This'll be super quick," I promise him.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," he says drawlingly, just enough hint of innuendo in his voice to let me know exactly what he's referring to.

I tilt my head to the side and make a deadpan face at him, blinking my lashes rapidly. "You know how sometimes you being all with the jealous is totally hot and other times it's massively annoying?" I ask, my own voice sarcastic. "Guess which one it is right now."

"Oh yeah?" He matches my expression with one of his own. "Flip this round then. What if we were needin' to go to Drusilla for somethin'."

Immediately, my chest tightens and my expression darkens, his sire's name sending a violent shudder of jealousy crashing over me in one giant, unexpected wave. Followed immediately by a fierce grip of possession, and then immediately after that by a rush of white-hot desire. The force of it nearly takes my breath away.

Inside me, my demon howls.

I sit very still for a moment and just stare at him, feeling funny. A little light headed. Spike just tilts his head to the side and bats his eyelashes at me, looking smug.

"Fine. Point taken," I mumble grudgingly. Then, as an instant after thought, "Except for the fact that that would literally never happen because my ex has helpful friends and yours doesn't."

"Fine, fine," he concedes, surprising me a little with how casual his voice suddenly sounds. His eyes sparkle a little, the small smirk on his lips just as smug as ever. "Let's just remember I'm not the only one who gets jealous, yeah?"

And it's only just now that I realize what he's done. Mentioning Drusilla had been to prove a point.

A point I'd apparently proven even better than he'd expected me to. Or had hoped I would.

I feel the lines around my lips softening into the beginnings of a smile as I stare across the faded leather bench seat at him, shaking my head. "Come here," I tell him.

He does, and as soon as he gets within reach I wrap my good hand around the back of his neck and claim his lips. It isn't on overly rough or demanding kiss, and I can tell that even though Spike wants to get grabby with me, he doesn't. Probably because of the wound that's still stinging all along the curve of my shoulder. The kiss might not be rough, but it's possessive. Silky smooth and deep. Just fierce enough that by the time I pull away and find his eyes again I know I've made and sharpened my point.

"Are we good to take care of this now?" I ask purposefully, waiting for him to nod once before I pull myself out of his arms and back to my door. "You don't even have to come if you don't want to, you can stay in the car—"

"Like bloody buggering hell am I stayin' in the car," he says sharply, cutting me off.

Not willing to push the argument, feeling a twinge again in my shoulder, I concede to him with a small nod and turn back to my door. Grabbing the wrapped knife off the seat and opening the door with my good hand, I slide down out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

Even though I'm fairly certain there won't be any issues, and more than fairly certain that if there are issues they won't necessarily be coming from Spike, I still find myself holding my breath a little after I've knocked on the big glass front door.

When there's no immediate answer, I test the door itself.

Surprisingly, it opens.

I pause, frowning, and turn to glance over my shoulder at Spike. He looks a little bemused, too.

"They expectin' someone?" He mutters, voice low.

Shrugging it off, we pull the door all the open and step inside. We pause at the top of the landing and glance around. Low lighting shows off the wide-open interior of the lobby. It's covered in sumptuous red fabrics, ornately constructed architecture and a grand staircase across from us. The floor of the lobby is patterned in deep green jade and sort of a beige-y off white…tile? Or something that shines in the dim lighting in some swirly pattern. There's a circular, uncomfortable looking sofa thing in the center and a cluster of additional red loveseats off to the left of an old check in desk.

Conspicuously though, there are no people.

Spike and I walk down the luxuriously red-carpeted steps a little cautiously, both of us on seemingly extra high alert. I can feel his body practically vibrating with renewed tension behind me, like he's preparing any second to have to use his body as vamp shield or something.

It's a little distracting.

I step a little ways away from him and further into lobby, the vaulted ceilings and shiny floors making my footsteps echo just that much louder. I wince, glance back over my shoulder, and Spike shrugs.

So much for stealth.

"Hello?" I call out, giving up on stealth all together. I glance round the large open lobby again. "Anybody…home?"

There's the sound of a door creaking open and then a shuffling noise coming from somewhere over to our left and Spike and I both jump and whirl back around.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is standing there staring back at us with wide, spectacled eyes from behind the hotel's old check in desk. It's been nearly a year since I've seen him, but honestly he doesn't look like he's changed all that much.

It looks like it takes him a minute to recognize me. Or maybe it just takes him a minute to realize that it's me and that I am, in fact, standing in the middle of Angel Investigations.

And this time without all that pesky murderous intent.

Relieved in this instant to see him and not Angel himself, I let my shoulders sag a little bit.

I watch him as he blinks a few times, then takes a step toward us. "Buffy?"

I nod back, like he actually needs the confirmation, and offer a small smile. "Hey, Wesley."

I watch as he steps out from behind the check in desk and moves a little closer toward us. "Not that this isn't a welcome surprise," he says kindly, if not still a tiny bit cautiously, brow furrowing as he glances up towards Spike and then quickly back down to me. "But if you don't mind my asking…what exactly are you doing here?"

"This your fancy expert then?" Spike murmurs derisively from behind me, following me as we cross the lobby floor. "Good Lord, it's no wonder Watcher-types never get shagged."

"Angel isn't…here right now," the ex-Watcher tells me as we come to a stop a couple feet in front of the check in counter. His eyes are focused now on the wound on my shoulder, and he frowns deeply. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say simply, hyper aware of the tenseness in the muscles of the vampire behind me at the mention of Angel's name. I choose my next words especially carefully. "I don't want him, anyway. I was actually looking for you."

It's obvious that this news surprises him, but he takes an automatic step toward me anyway. "Of course," he says, eyes suddenly all business and warm as they steadily lock on mine. "What can I do for you?"

Okay. So maybe he has changed a little bit in the past year.

"We were driving through downtown and saw something kinda weird," I tell him, pulling the tattered ends of my blouse off the snake knife's blade, making sure to wipe it clean before holding it out for him to take. "Picked this up, thought it might be something more up your alley."

Wesley eyes the unwrapped blade for a minute before he reaches out and takes it from me carefully, balancing the blade on the tip of his left index finger and the creepy serpent head between his right thumb and middle, gingerly holding it up in front of his face to get a better look at it.

He stares at it for what begins to feel like an extremely long time, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes narrowed behind the rims of his glasses. After another extended moment, the silence filling in around the three of us starts to feel oppressive.

Finally, his patience obviously running short, Spike asks, "It mean anythin' to you or not?"

"What?" Wesley asks immediately, his eyes snapping up to meet Spike's. Then, without any prompting, he shakes his head and says, "I mean, yes. It does." He turns his eyes to me. "We received word earlier this evening that there was going to be a ritual sacrifice taking place tonight using a knife described very much like this. " His blue eyes drift back down toward the knife and he says slowly, "That's where Angel is, in fact. He just went out looking for it."

"Then we just missed him, cause I'm pretty sure we were there," I say, crossing my arms up over my chest, immediately regretting the habit when the wound in my shoulder throbs and I wince, dropping my arms back down to my sides. "We fought off this creepy little collection of vamps in an alleyway. They'd spray painted some sort of symbol up on the brick, and they had that." I gesture toward the bronze knife still held lightly in his hands.

I watch as his eyes zero in on the gash in my shoulder again, a flicker of understanding passing over his features, gaze softening genuinely for the first time since we've been talking. "And this did that, I'm assuming?" He asks, lifting the knife up once more for emphasis.

I nod, the throbbing pain in my wound flaring up a little as I stare at the angry, sharpened blade again. "Yeah."

Wesley nods thoughtfully, glancing back down at the snake knife for a moment before looking back at me.

"Why don't you have a seat over there," he indicates with a wave of his hand over toward an uncomfortable looking little love seat. "We have a first aid kit back here somewhere. How about we get that cleaned up?"

"No, that's okay," I tell him immediately, shaking my head. "We can't stay. I just wanted to make sure we got that into safe hands. Some of the vamps trying to use it got away, so—"

"That knife," Spike suddenly asks, cutting me off and effectively drawing Wesley's eyes away from me. His eyes narrowed down on the serpent blade like he's just had an epiphany. "'S not cursed, is it?" His eyes snap up to Wesley's. "Not gonna…cause the Slayer's arm to fall off or give her some ancient Sumerian disease or what all?"

I'm about to dismiss the notion outright; to laugh it off as being a silly concern, a phantomy figment of my clearly overprotective husband's worried imagination.

But then Wesley does this thing where he opens his mouth to give an automatic response, then pauses, brow furrowing and lips pursing thoughtfully. His eyebrows go up, and he tilts his head to the side like the thought is worth considering, and he hasn't considered it before now.

"It's not, right?" I press, eyes widening, suddenly feeling like the wound is stinging worse than before.

"I don't know," the ex-Watcher says slowly, honestly, looking down at the knife again. "Not for certain. I only became aware of this blade and the ritual it's meant to be involved in earlier tonight. I mean, I don't _believe_ so, not at first glance." He looks up and finds my eyes again, that same focused, steady gaze I'd seen earlier. It's surprisingly calming. "But I'll do some research and find out for certain."

Then again, that calming thing could actually be my vampire's hand on my lower back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. God, he's so sneaky sometimes. I hadn't even noticed he'd slipped his hand beneath the hem of my blouse until now.

"Well, whaddya know," Spike murmurs appreciatively, shifting his gaze to me. "It's Giles Junior."

And I swear it's like Wesley's just now noticed that he still doesn't know who exactly he's been talking to this entire time. He blinks a few times, brow furrowing as he intensely focuses in on the bleached blonde to my left.

A beat passes.

Then, "I'm sorry, _who_ are you exactly?"

"Oh, sorry," I blurt out, realizing maybe this should have been one of the first things we'd done upon showing up here unannounced. "I skipped the whole introduction thing." I glance toward Spike, feeling bizarrely formal and totally awkward when I gesture toward him and say, "Umm, Wesley, this is—"

"Spike," comes the low, growling voice from somewhere behind us.

I let my eyes flutter closed, pressing my lips down and rubbing them together.

 _Perfect._

At the sound of his name, very much not being spoken by me, my vampire's hand freezes where it's been making slow circles against my back. He inhales deeply, jaw clenching almost with an almost audible grinding sound as he cocks his head to the side and cracks his neck. Then he consciously removes his hand from me and steps a small distance to the left, turning around.

"Peaches," he drawls, a slow, smug smirk tickling the corner of his lips even as a violent wave of near crippling jealousy, the same kind I'd felt a flash of in the car, passes through the link between us.

I turn around too, but not in time.

I'm not in time to say anything, to say one word, not _one_ , before the brunette vamp morphs into game face and launches himself toward my husband.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike side steps out of the larger vampire's way at the last minute, gliding far to the right and whirling around, landing in a defensive position just in time for Angel to go flying past him, crashing into the edge of the check in desk beside me. He immediately spins back around and drops into his own defensive stance. The two of them facing off, eyeing each other through gleaming golden eyes. When they'd both managed to slip into game face, I have no idea. But seeing them both like that, seeing them looking at each other like _that_ , snaps me out of whatever slow motion fog my mind had been moving in instantly.

Rage flaring to life, that familiar burning in my stomach kicking up, I immediately move to step in between them. Maybe grab Angel by the arm, he's closest to me. I can get to him and toss him across the open lobby before he has a chance to do any real damage, and without causing any real damage to him in return.

I watch the brunette snarl again at my husband and amend my plan quickly to include doing just a _little_ bit of damage to him in return.

I'm already moving, driven forward on an instinct I'm still only starting to understand, when I feel it. Not a command, but more of a...request? Whatever it is, it's new, but strong enough of a feeling to stop me in my tracks. I feel it pulse toward me just as I turn and catch the lightning quick shake of Spike's head, the slight widening of his golden eyes when they flick toward me.

The intention is clear.

 _Let me handle this._

I frown at him, not confused, but frustrated. Cheeks hot, the churning in my stomach and the tingling in my fingertips not exactly wanting me to stand still.

"Spike?" I hear Wesley ask from behind me. "Spike as in…William the Bloody?"

My vampire preens, taking his eyes off Angel long enough to send the ex-Watcher a fangy grin. "The one and only."

 _God_. I'm torn between rolling my eyes and kind of wanting drag him up to the closest unlocked guest room.

I don't have time to do either, because Angel's apparently had enough of the introductions and is already launching himself forward again. In a wild panic, my eyes sweep over him, assessing the threat as quickly as I can. Trying to decide in this one split second whether or not to just let Spike have his fun and get a few hits in or to step in right now. My eyes shoot, lightning fast, down to Angel's fists. No pointy wooden objects, no...well, no weapons of any kind, actually.

Seeing no immediate threat to the non-dusty status of my husband, I feel myself relax slightly.

But only slightly.

An only slightly that quickly ratchets back up to high, red alert the second Angel's fist actually smashes into the side of Spike's face. Hard enough that I feel the blunt force of it across own jaw, but not quite hard enough to send either Spike or I reeling.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Angel asks my vampire, the two now beginning to circle each other predatorily.

"Oh, you know. Just thought I'd drop by," Spike responds casually, stretching his jaw out and grinning from ear to ear. Adrenaline and pure, hot jealousy warring across the connection between us, stirring in my veins as real as they're coursing through his. And then his fist shoots out, hard and blindingly fast, a brutal jab directly into the bridge of the larger vamp's nose. Angel's head snaps back, and Spike chuckles. "See the sights, ride the rides."

The brunette drops his head back down level again and growls around his fangs, "I thought you learned your lesson the last time you dropped by."

Spike rocks back on his heels, his eyebrows raising high. Voice mocking. "That sounded suspiciously like a threat, mate."

"It was meant to," Angel responds, lunging forward again, this time landing a fierce double punch, the first to the bleached blonde's stomach and the second to his jaw again.

Something deep down in my gut flares at the words, ignoring the pain caused by Angel's hits as the level of threat toward Spike suddenly seems to skyrocket in my head. I take another step forward, preparing to wedge myself in between the snarling vamps. To punch them both in the face if I have to. "Angel, _stop_ ," I say, my voice cold and hard. A command that would have stopped Spike in his tracks if I'd aimed it his direction. "Let me—"

"Tell me, Grandpap," Spike purrs tauntingly, cutting me off on purpose. Not ready for the fight to be over, apparently. I send him a narrow eyed glare but grudgingly take the hint, but letting him know by the look on my face that if the idiot gets himself killed I'll dust him myself.

Or something.

I take a small step back, never taking my eyes off the still slow circling pair. Prepared to step in regardless of Spike's personal feelings about the fight if I think for one second things might get a little too serious. My husband tilts his head to the side and asks, "Which last time are you referrin' to? As I remember it, last time I dropped by it was _you_ who nearly wound up dust."

Because physically fighting isn't enough. They have to insult each other, too.

"Spike," I warn lightly.

"What?" He asks, casting a wickedly gleeful look in my direction. Waves a dismissive hand in Angel's direction. "He's not gonna do anythin' to me. The great poof here doesn't even have a weapon."

"Don't need a weapon to kick your ass." Angel throws another punch to illustrate his point, but Spike's waiting for it this time. Catches it in the palm of his hand and twists Angel's arm up and out of the way, landing a solid kick to his gut and sending him staggering backward once more.

He gives me another playful smirk, raising his eyebrows as if to say _told you so_ , but I can see it. Feel it. The very real, violent rage that's simmering just below the playful exterior. How any second this could turn into a very real fight and not just the cursory blow-for-blow it seems to be now.

Taking advantage of the bleached blonde's momentary distraction, Angel spins around and loops his arm around his neck, catching him in a mockery of a choke hold. "Why are you here, Spike?" He squeezes his arm a little tighter, not that it'll do any real damage. "In _my_ town."

All Spike does is chuckle.

"This the part where you tell me to get off your 'turf'?" My vampire asks mockingly, reaching back around and gripping Angel by the arm, arching his back up and using the leverage to toss the brunette over his head. "Really, Peaches, you can do better."

Angel lands on the floor a few feet away, but immediately sits up. The look in his eyes now is downright murderous. And this is that moment. The moment where the fight goes from nothing to very much _something_.

All of my muscles tense.

"You want better?" he asks, reaching over and effortlessly snapping the wooden leg off a plush looking chair to his left, scrambling back up to his feet. "How's this?"

I'm moving before my brain has a chance to catch up to the instinctual force driving me forward, catching Angel around the wrist and wrenching the makeshift stake from his hand. I snap it in two over my bent knee, ignoring the slight twinge in my shoulder as I do, adrenaline keeping me from feeling much of anything. I toss the two ends of wood all the way across the open lobby. Then I turn back to face Angel and clock him once, hard, in the face for good measure.

He stumbles back and clutches at his nose, but I haven't hit him hard enough to send him to the ground.

This time.

"Alright, that's _enough_ ," I shout, turning around to look at Spike. Not missing the flash of irritation in his eyes, across the link, as they meet mine. Oh, _right_ , like I've spoiled his fun by saving his unlife? I narrow my eyes at him unapologetically and turn my back on him, my eyes landing once again on Angel. Already back in his human guise. When his eyes meet mine again they're wide, stunned. Like he's just now noticing me for the first time.

I glare at him, too.

"Spike is here with me, alright?" His dark eyes widen a little more. Looking like he has about a million and one questions about what exactly _that_ means. I don't let him ask any of them. I turn around and start to walk back toward Spike, saying, "And we were just leaving."

"Wait, what? Buffy." He catches me around the upper arm and stops me, tugging me back around to face him. Behind me, Spike growls, a possessive surge washing over my shoulders that has me instinctively yanking my arm out of Angel's grasp and moving a few steps away from him.

The brunette frowns down at me, his eyes searching mine, then shifting up over my shoulder toward where Spike's just taken a step closer to me, his shoulder now nearly touching mine. The subtle shift in movement seems to awaken some dim realization in the larger vampire, because his body language changes immediately. Stiffer, a different kind of on edge than he'd been during their fight.

He looks back down at me.

"Spike's here…with you," Angel says slowly, like he's working through a difficult math problem in his head. He frowns and shakes his head, a little laugh escaping. But not one that makes me feel like he thinks this is funny. Like he's trying to wrap his head around something that's entirely impossible. "What do you mean he's here with you?"

"They arrived here together," Wesley offers quietly from off to my left. I turn over my shoulder to look at him, quirking a brow at him. He presses his lips together and nods in concession, turning his eyes down to the floor.

"I mean, he's with me," I clarify for the vampire, ignoring Wesley's largely unhelpful comment and turning back to face him. Feeling Spike shift just a little closer to me again. I clear my throat and add, for final emphasis, "I'm…with him."

Angel blinks at me, his expression suddenly going deadpan. Not confused anymore. More like he thinks I've completely lost my mind. When he asks the next question, it isn't because he doesn't know the answer. "And this would be a 'with' in what sense of the word, exactly?"

"Depends," Spike chimes in from behind me, a tingling warmth settling all across my shoulders from his reaction to my words from a moment ago. His chest now completely flush against my back. "Which sense's gonna bother you more?"

Angel whips his eyes toward him and snarls, his fists curling into fists at his sides.

I slide to the side before he can make with the lunging again, covering Spike's body entirely with mine and pinning the snarling brunette with a hard glare. "Oh my _God_. You two can go ahead and quit whatever…this is right now." I turn over my shoulder to fix Spike with the same hard look, though the contented spark and undisguised affection in his eyes has me softening just a little when I speak again. "There will be no more of this."

I gesture between the two of them to prove my point, waiting for Spike to give me a nod before turning around again.

"Spike and I are here together because we're…" I pause, letting the thought trail off. There are a whole list of different ways to explain what Spike and I are. Mated. Married. Mystically connected through our demons. I toy, just for a split second, with he idea of just saying it all. Getting the whole thing out there. Ripping off the Band-aid. In the end, I decide to settle on the simplest explanation and just say, "Together."

And you'd think I just sucker punched the brunette vampire right in the gut, the way he suddenly steps backward. Not that he probably hadn't put two and two together already, but for whatever reason hearing me say it on no uncertain terms maybe has it feeling that much more real. Blinking, looking like it takes every ounce of his energy to get the word out without choking, he echoes, "Together?"

"Bloody hell," Spike mocks, very obviously enjoying this part more than he should. "Are you deaf as well as stupid? Together." He pauses, and I don't have to be looking at him to know the exact expression on his face when he lowers his voice and purrs, "Got the bite marks to prove it."

 _Seriously?_

I whip my head back toward him, widening my eyes as I hiss, "Spike."

But it's too late. The damage has already been done, Angel already reaching around me to grip Spike by the lapels of his duster and haul him forward.

"What did you do to her?" he asks on a growl, their faces nearly nose to nose.

My muscles tense again, heat flaring up and zinging through my veins, blood rushing in my ears. "Angel, don't," I say in a low warning, stepping toward them just as Spike braces his palm flat on his chest and shoves, hard.

The two separate again, but the tension crackling between them is so overwhelmingly high, so insanely palpable, that it's almost difficult for me to breathe.

Spike readjusts his duster, tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes, saying _very_ deliberately, "Nothin' she didn't ask me to."

Angel's fists shoots out before either Spike or I can make a move to stop it, his knuckles hitting the sharp ridge of Spike's right brow bone, cutting into it with enough force this time that I can practically feel the skin splitting above my own eye. Both of us go reeling backward this time.

There's a brief bout of chaos immediately following but I hardly notice, everyone seems to be talking at once. The only thing I focus in on is the sound of Spike's voice suddenly there in my ear.

"Buffy," he's saying, a strong arm winding around my waist. The tension that had been nearly stifling just moments before has all but evaporated, replaced by a surging flood of guilt from the vampire beside me.

"Okay," I murmur, letting Spike support my weight as I tip my head back and blink my eyes open again, pressing the tips of my fingers to the throbbing spot just over my right eye. "Ow."

"I'm sorry, luv," he says softly, finding my eyes with the worried indigo of his. He has one hand on the side of my face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, nodding against the soft, cool skin of his palm. Mesmerized a little by the look in his eyes, forgetting instantly how frustrated I'd been with him just moments before. "I'm good."

Spike frowns a little like he doesn't believe me and says, "We should get you home."

I blink up at him, pulling my hand away from my eye and frowning. Just now seeming to notice the open gash streaked in crimson across his right brow. "You're bleeding," I tell him, and reach my hand up, feather the tips of my fingers over the small open wound, wiping a stray drop of blood away as I do.

"'M not worried about me," he tells me softly, tugging me a little closer to him. Eyeing the long gash on my shoulder pointedly before looking back up to my face. "Let's get you back to the car, yeah?"

"Nobody's going anywhere until someone explains to me what the hell is going on here," Angel says, the sound of his voice way too loud for the throbbing in my head. And a little jarring besides, because I'd honestly almost forgotten he was still standing there at all.

Spike immediately turns narrowed, deadly eyes on the other vampire. A surge of renewed rage bubbling up in his chest and flowing toward me on a wave. I rub a slow circle into the back of his hand with my thumb.

It only works a little bit.

I turn slightly to face my ex but don't pull myself out of Spike's arms. "What do you want to know?"

Angel looks a little like he hadn't expected me to just..ask him that. He pauses, frowns at me, looking like he's trying to figure out exactly which of the questions he has that he wants to start with. Then finally, folding his arms over his chest, he asks, "What are you doing in L.A.?"

Spike tilts his head to the side and drawls, "Your job, apparently."

The vampires exchange another tense glare, low growls tearing from each of their throats, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Angel," Wesley interrupts before the two vampires can fly at each other again, stepping purposefully forward and putting his body in front of the brunette's. "Buffy and…Spike brought us this." He hands Angel the snake knife. "It seems to be the same as Cordelia described. They stumbled upon the ritual from her vision whilst driving through town, and…" He trails off thoughtfully, brow furrowing as he glances back in our direction, "put a stop to it, I assume."

"Oh, yeah," I say breezily, pulling myself slightly out of Spike's embrace to roll my shoulder back, trying to stretch the tightened, aching muscle. "Totally stopped it. Except, ya know, for those two or three vamps that got away." I frown, thinking back over what it is Wesley's just said. "Can we back it up to the part about Cordelia having _visions_?"

His eyebrows go up, and he opens his mouth as if to explain in further detail. But Angel cuts him off.

"You let them get away?" he asks, his eyes finding mine again. Accusing.

I find myself narrowing my own eyes on him, a flash of irritation heating up my cheeks as I say, "Well, _ran_ away is probably more accurate. I would've gone after them, but—"

"She was a bit busy gettin' her arm sliced open," my vampire finishes for me, his voice low, incredibly dangerous. "And in the middle of doin' _your_ fuckin' job, I might add."

Angel looks at him and scoffs cruelly, his lips twisted in an angry, mocking sneer. "And I'm supposed to believe you actually care about that?"

"Of course I _care_ , you stupid git," Spike snarls, letting go of my completely to take an impulsive, threatening step forward. "She's my bloody _wife_."

And everything goes completely still. For what feels like a really, really long moment, nobody moves. Nobody makes a move to say anything.

Wesley's the first to speak. His eyes wide behind the rims of his glasses, focused entirely on me. "I-I'm sorry, did you just say—"

" _Wife_?" Angel spits the word out, like it physically pains him to do so.

I don't respond right away. And this time, neither does Spike. We just stand next to each other, tensions high, but different now. Of all the ways I'd imagined letting that particular cat out of the bag, I don't think I'd imagined this.

"The two of you…" Wesley says slowly, pointing back and forth between the two of us in quiet disbelief. "You're married?"

I bite down on my bottom lip and nibble on it, dropping my eyes to the floor.

"No," Angel mutters, half under his breath. Shakes his head once. "There's no…it's not possible."

"Yeah?" Spike moves to taunt him instantly. "That ring on the Slayer's left hand says otherwise."

Angel's eyes go very wide a split second before they dart down to my hand, to the silver band in question. As if that's all the evidence he needs. His gaze snaps back to my face as I raise mine up from the floor.

"You married _Spike_?" he hisses at me, looking a little like he's torn between laughing hysterically and bursting into tears. Maybe using the snake blade he still has clutched in his hand.

Or maybe all three.

"Okay, yes," I say quickly, angling my body defensively in front of Spike's once more and putting my hands out in front of me. "Spike and I are married. And before anybody completely wigs out, let me just…explain."

Wesley nods and murmurs a quiet agreement. "I think that'd be best."

Seemingly satisfied that there's some kind of explanation for all of this, Angel's shoulders seem to relax a little. Mine relax in turn.

The only one who isn't relaxed, it seems, is my vampire. Painfully tense beside me, he turns and steps around me, looks me in the eyes.

"We don't owe this wanker an explanation, pet," he murmurs, indicating exactly who he means with a tilt of his head.

And he isn't wrong. Not entirely. We don't _owe_ Angel anything, least of all an explanation as to my relationship with his grandchilde. But I find myself wanting to give one, anyway. If nothing else than just to have it over and done with, to have it out once and for all.

I'd rather Angel hear all the details from me, anyway.

"I know that," I tell Spike now, my hand resting lightly on the curve of his leather clad bicep, squeezing him gently. I raise my eyebrows. "But this is a lot, remember? For anyone who isn't, ya know, _us_."

"I don't understand how there can even be an _'us'_ ," Angel says suddenly, drawing our attention back toward him. He's no longer holding the knife, so there's that, but he doesn't look any less murderous than he had a moment ago. He gestures to us absently and says, "Or a 'you'. Or…you know what I mean. Buffy." His eyes are wide, emphatic. "This is _Spike_ we're talking about."

"Standin' right here, mate," Spike tells the other vampire sharply.

"Was I talking to you?" Angel asks him, just as sharply.

Tensions rise and crackle again, and I have to tighten my grip on the bleached blonde's arm to keep him from lunging forward again.

"This is great," I mumble, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. "Let's keep doing this."

"How could this happen?" Angel asks, his eyes back on me. Spike still quietly seething, practically vibrating with how badly he wants to throw another punch at the larger vamp right now. "You two just, what, went from trying to kill each other to playing house over night?"

I open my mouth to respond but Spike beats me to it.

"Bit more complicated than that, _friend_ ," he says coldly, tilting his head mockingly to the side. "Not that I expect you to understand. Forehead that big doesn't leave a whole lotta room for your brain, I'd wager."

I choke on the laugh that threatens to escape before I can stop it, immediately straightening and clearing my throat when Angel turns slightly wounded eyes back toward me.

"Look," I say quickly, before either of them can get another barb in edgewise. "I get that you're thrown. But this is a really…really long story." I take a deep breath to settle myself. "And I just don't think—"

"Oh, careful luv," Spike purrs, building on the joke he'd started a moment ago, his lips back at my ear from behind me. "I think he's about to brood."

The response from the brunette vampire is immediate. "Shut up, Spike."

I roll my eyes again.

Nothing's going to get explained if the two of them can't stuff this stupid rivalry for one stupid second.

"I think both of you should shut up for a minute and just let me—" I'm cut off by a sudden, incredibly sharp stinging sensation in my shoulder, the wound there throbbing with a renewed urgency. I glance down at it and realize it's opened up again, Spike's seal no longer holding at the widest section of the gash across the curve of my shoulder. A trickle of blood is seeping down from the largest portion and down into the crook of my elbow. It must have opened in the struggle or something. I hadn't even noticed. I frown down at it and mumble, "Ow."

"You alright?" Spike asks, already maneuvering himself back in front of me.

"It's just a little stingy," I explain, but he's already taking my elbow gently in the palm of his hand and lifting it up, leaning down to get a better look at it. "It'll be fine."

"You should sit," is all he says in response, not letting go of my wounded arm to look up into my face.

"That's not a bad idea, Buffy," Wesley agrees, ignoring the death glare the larger vampire shoots him in response. I turn to look at him, and he's holding the knife in his hands again, glancing down at it. "Sit down and try to rest. At least for now, while we look a little further into the blade." His gaze finds mine. "You shouldn't leave until we know more."

My eyes instinctively search out Spike's again. He just nods once, so subtle I don't think I'd notice if I didn't know exactly what to look for.

And I sigh.

"Umm…yeah. Okay," I say, moving over toward one of the little red loveseats beside the check in desk, my vampire directly behind me. I drop down onto it and glance back over my shoulder at the ex-Watcher. "Probably be good to find out if this thing is gonna be a problem before we get back on the road." I wiggle my shoulder as much as I dare to for emphasis, wincing a little when all it does is throb harder.

I turn back toward Spike, whose eyes are fixed on my wound, his fingers gently probing around it, like he's half expecting to find something new there he hadn't before. "Hey," I say softly, and his eyes hesitantly shift from my shoulder up to my face. The cut above his right brow is still bleeding, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him much, or at all. "Are you okay?"

He knows I'm not just asking about the wound on his forehead. His whole body is still impossibly on edge, every muscle so tightly coiled it's a miracle they don't all snap at once. Like hundreds of rubber bands. He's fighting incredibly hard for control, and the effort isn't lost on me at all.

"You should cover that up," is all he says, clearly referencing the gash in my arm and pushing himself up to his feet. "Shirt's torn to shreds. I'll go grab one from the car."

And he's gone before I can ask him again, striding purposefully back toward the glass door we'd come through initially and disappearing out into the dark courtyard.

I frown, staring off in the direction he's just vanished and feeling inexplicably guilty. Like maybe he'd been right in the first place and we shouldn't have come here at all.

From across the open lobby, I hear footsteps coming toward me and turn my head in time to see Angel approaching me. Because that's just _perfect_.

I turn back around to face front, studiously ignoring him.

"Buffy," he says my name urgently, coming to a stop beside the arm of my loveseat. "What's really going on here?"

I shift my gaze over toward him and sigh, shaking my head. "I told you, it's a long story."

"And one I think I deserve to hear," he responds coolly.

That has me raising my eyebrows skeptically, shifting slightly away from him on the little loveseat to ask, "And _why's_ that exactly?"

"Come on," Angel says, needling me. Like him saying "come on" is enough to get me to spill my guts to him. And maybe it would have been, before. What feels like an eternity ago now. That had always been part of the problem with us, anyway. He'd always want me to share things with him but never wanted to share things with me. And he's still talking. "This is me. And this is you. And this is _Spike_." He pauses dramatically, like that in and of itself is reason enough. Then he shakes his head and says, "I just don't get—"

He stops mid-thought as the front door swings open again and Spike saunters back down the red carpeted steps, not even bothering to toss a cursory glance or glare in Angel's direction as he approaches me. The brunette simply turns on his heel and storms away, back over toward where Wesley now has the knife and a large dusty looking book open on top of the desk. He says something to him I can't hear from where I'm sitting, and they begin what looks like kind of a tense argument.

"Here, pet," Spike says, and I turn back around to face him, reaching up and taking the proffered clothing from his hand. It only takes me a half second to recognize it, promptly glancing back up to pin him with a knowing look.

He smirks down at me. "What?"

I finger the silky red button down absently, my fingers toying with one of the black buttons as I say, "Really?"

Spike merely shrugs, the small, wry smirk never leaving his lips. "You can't pull on a t-shirt with your shoulder like that," he says breezily.

 _Right._

And the fact that I'd been wearing this exact button down shirt barely three hours ago before Spike had seen fit to strip it from my body with his teeth has absolutely _nothing_ to do with it.

God, I swear. All this testosterone-y jealous vampire crap is going to get majorly old. Really fast.

But since it's my fault that we're here, and I'm the one causing said jealous vampire crap, I decide to let it slide. I smile at him and say, "Thank you."

He nods at me, the little humorous twinkle in his eye seeming to spark and fizzle out as his eyes search mine. I can feel him getting frustrated just being in here, agitation fluttering toward me even as I can practically see the tension entering his shoulders again.

"So, I was thinkin'," Spike begins slowly, settling himself down on the loveseat beside me. His eyes are focused just over my shoulder now, back toward the check in desk and the brunette vampire. "If we're gonna be stuck here for a little while it might be best if I pop out for a bit."

I inhale deeply and nod my head, settle the button down into my lap and eye him through my lashes skeptically. "You were thinking that, huh."

His eyes shift back to mine and he frowns. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" I ask casually, my voice as low as his.

There's a brief flicker of something just a little bit fiercer than annoyance fluttering over the connection, and the next words leave his lips on a sigh.

"Like I have ulterior motives for wantin' to nip out," he drawls, leaning toward me, reaching a hand up tucking a strand of tangled hair back behind my ear. "Just don't think much is gonna get resolved while I'm here, is all." His thumb hovers over my cheek but his eyes shift over my shoulder again and narrow dangerously. An all too familiar wave of gut twisting envy follows the next words. "Captain Forehead over there is too self-righteous to listen to anythin' you have to say if I'm standin' right next to you."

When my vampire finally tears his eyes away from the check in desk and levels them back on mine, I can't help the little smile that tickles my lips.

Several beats pass.

Then, "You _really_ want to fight him, don't you."

His immediate response: "Like you wouldn't bloody believe."

We share a short, low laugh, and I close my eyes as the pad of his thumb trails along my cheekbone and up to the spot on my brow that had been aching earlier. "But I can't, can I?" He muses distractedly, half to himself and half to me. When I open my eyes again his gaze is fixed thoughtfully to the spot on my head where his fingers are. "Not without gettin' you hurt in the mix."

The words send an unintentional chill skittering down my spine. Because of how much he means them, sure. But also because of the barely masked threat in them. Spike and I patrol all the time together. We get into fights on patrol all the time together. Never once has he backed down from a fight because of the connection, or the fact that I might feel his pain through it. And neither have I.

It's always just been part of the job.

And it strikes me then, why the words seemed to carry a different weight to them. Because he doesn't necessarily mean physically getting me hurt.

My mouth runs uncomfortably dry.

Sensing my uneasiness, Spike just sighs and pulls his hand away from my brow. He sniffs dismissively and says, voice suddenly casual, "So I'll just run down to the corner and grab some more smokes, maybe get some nosh for you. You hungry?"

I attempt to meet his casual tone with a forced one of my own, a slightly strained smile. "You have to ask?"

I'm not. Not really. But it probably wouldn't be a bad idea for me to eat something, what with the open wound and the blood loss, help kick all that good Slayery healing into gear.

"Craving somethin' in particular?"

"Surprise me," I say.

Spike nods, and I impulsively reach out and grabbing his hand when he pushes himself to his feet. He pauses and looks down at me expectantly, scarred eyebrow raised.

I don't know what I want to say, exactly. The first thing that comes to mind is thank you, but then he'd ask me what I'm thanking him for…and I'm not even sure I know.

So I clear my throat and say instead, "You should let me take a look at your eye when you get back."

Spike seems amused by this. "Had worse," he says lightly, then pauses, tilts his head to the side. "From you, if I'm not mistaken."

He's playing at being casual, but it's still there. Barely hidden just below the surface, little bit of stinging fury and possessiveness that just won't seem to flicker or fade away. I know it's not aimed at me. Logically, I recognize that.

But it bothers me a little more than I'd like to admit that I can't seem to soothe it away. Not for any real lasting amount of time, anyway.

"I'm sorry," I manage, the two words carrying with them a weight I didn't think was possible.

My vampire's expression softens a little and he shakes his head. "He'd 'a found out sooner or later, I s'pose. Guess I'm glad I was here to see the look on the wanker's face when he did." His eyes search mine for a moment, and I see the change when it happens. When they go from swirling azure to dark, stormy navy. He leans down then to thread one hand back into my hair and cover my mouth with his in a slow, covetous kiss. And there's no mistaking the purpose, what it's supposed to mean, what it's supposed to show.

Who it's actually for.

Not with the way his hand is tangled in my hair, the slow slide of his tongue over mine. It doesn't last all that long, five seconds at the very most. But the intention is more than clear.

His lips linger just a little longer against mine before he finally pulls back, presses a much softer kiss to my forehead and murmurs, "I'll be right back."

And he's gone then, just like before. Moving in long strides back across the lobby, taking the stairs two at a time and vanishing out into the night for the second time.

I turn my head to the side to find both Wesley and Angel, not surprisingly, staring at me. One looking completely wigged out, the other, like he's about to toss his pig's blood all over the pretty patterned floor of the lobby.

 _Oh, boy._

"So," I begin, getting slowly back up to my feet. I gather the button down shirt into my hands and bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Is there somewhere I can change?"

There's an incredibly long, incredibly awkward silence that threads itself between us after I finally finish giving the run down on the Spike and Buffy show.

I'd started from the beginning. The very beginning, going all the way back to the whole drinking of Dracula's disgusting blood thing and ending with the impromptu backyard wedding ceremony. In between that, I'd mentioned the dreams, the unexplainable pull we'd felt towards one another, the theory of the connection (including the various Latin phrases I hadn't entirely remembered), the details we'd been able to collect through our research (leaving out the detail that the research had been aided by the Council) and finally, the claim.

I'm still not sure which part had bothered Angel more.

So, all of it. Probably.

He's pacing the lobby floor in front of me now, muttering something I can't quite hear under his breath. Wesley's hovering over to the left of us, the book he'd pulled out earlier in reference to the blade snapped shut and abandoned in favor of listening to my story. Cordelia, who's sitting with her legs crossed on the right side of loveseat, is just sort of staring at me with unblinking, impossibly wide eyes.

She'd come flouncing into the hotel about three minutes after Spike had left, and just after I'd come back into the lobby having changed my shirt, announcing loudly, _"I come bearing strong coffee. I figured we could all use a little recharge if we're doing research on that freaky vision I had, and that black sludge in the coffee pot just isn't gonna cut it so— oh, hey Buffy."_ She'd stopped mid-step after that, frowned, backed up and turned to look at me. _"Buffy."_ Her eyes had narrowed as they'd taken in my presence there, and then, a second later, gone very wide. _"Oh God, what is it? Is there some kind of apocalypse happening we don't know about?"_

To which Wesley had stepped in and done his best to explain what had happened, exactly. Everything from us stumbling upon the ritual from her vision, to me being sliced open with the snake knife, to the whole Spike and I being married thing.

To which Cordelia's initial response had been; _"What is it with you and men who try to kill you?"_

I'd been a little annoyed by her glib statements about my relationship to begin with, especially after a comment like that, and hadn't been exactly excited about having her there during my explanation of things. But now, with the silence in the cavernous room so nearly deafening. I kind of wish she'd say something snippy. Say anything, really.

"So…" I finally say, feeling the urgent need to break the silence before things can get an inch more awkward than they already are. I clear my throat. "That's it."

I guess they'd been waiting for me to speak, because my voice seems to shatter the silence into a thousand little pieces and it seems like everyone comes back to life all at once.

"And Giles is just… _okay_ with this?" Angel asks, stopping in his pacing just long enough to plant his hands on his hips and shoot me a skeptical glance.

I'm a little surprised that this is his first question to me. I mean, of all the hundred thousand and seventy-two different possibilities, him being worried about how Giles is taking things…well, it seems a little weird. I would've thought he'd more interested to hear about Mom. Or Xander, even.

Not that I'm not oh so certain those questions will be coming eventually. But fine. We'll start with Giles.

"It wasn't like he really had a choice," I explain, wrapping my arms defensively around my waist and shrugging. "Mystical demon connection claimy thing…didn't leave much room for anyone _not_ being okay with it. But...yeah. I mean, no, they weren't all Abbott and Costello-y overnight or anything." I pause to consider that, then frown, wrinkling my nose distractedly. "And now that they are getting along it honestly kind of bugs. It took all of us a little time to…get used to it. But everyone has, now." I tilt my head to the side and add off-handedly, "Even Riley—"

" _Riley_?" The vampire asks, gaping at me. "Riley Finn knew about this before I did?"

"What, you expected a phone call?" Cordelia chimes in wryly, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising high on her forehead.

"Well I…no," Angel admits sullenly, folding his arms up over his chest as he looks at her. "Not exactly. But a little heads up might have been nice." His eyes dart back to me, accusing again. "I mean, come on, Buffy. This is _Spike_."

Inhaling a sharp breath through my nose, I narrow my eyes at him and say, "Yes, you've mentioned that a few dozen times now."

And it's _still_ no more compelling of an argument as it had been the first time around.

"Because it's _worth_ mentioning," he replies, his voice matching mine. "The last time I saw the two of you together I had to hold _you_ back to keep you from staking him."

He's not wrong. But that…God, it feels like a whole different life to me now. I don't feel like the same Slayer I was two years ago. I hardly even feel like the same _Buffy_. Not after everything that's happened, everything we've been through.

"Things are different now," I say softly, turning my eyes down to my hand, reaching up and twisting the silver band around once. And in my head I think what I'm actually thinking is _everything's_ different now.

"What, him?" Angel asks sharply, taking a few steps closer to me and drawing my eyes back up to his. He shakes his head, drops his voice to an urgent low and says, "People… _demons_ like Spike, Buffy, they don't change."

I just blink up at him, a little bit at a loss. My mind a little bit blown that he can actually say that to me with a straight face.

Cordelia scoffs loudly from beside me, the sound catching a choking a little in her throat as she does. And then, like she's just reads my mind, she deadpans to Angel, blinking long lashes and asking sarcastically, "You know that just sounds stupid coming from you, right?"

"It's not the same thing," he fires back at her immediately, a knee jerk reaction.

And again, one he isn't entirely wrong about.

What's happened between me and Spike...the ways that Spike is different, it's not the same as Angel and his soul. Not as all encompassing, definitely not as immediate. And clearly not as black and white. No. There's nothing black and white about Spike. He's always been these wonderful, fascinating, endlessly _irritating_ shades of grey. Impossible to pin down and always, _always_ surprising me. No, he doesn't have a soul. He doesn't have that for a conscience, maybe doesn't have some constant little inner voice in his head telling him exactly what is technically right and what's wrong. And yet he chooses not to hurt people anyway. And while I know my relationship with him plays a pretty major role in that, I'm not deluded enough not to understand that much, it doesn't take away the fact that at the end of the day it's still a choice that _he's_ made. That in a way, _I'm_ a choice that he's made.

And it's one I honestly don't think Angel never could have made in the same state or position.

So, no. It's definitely not the same thing.

"You're right," I say now, meeting the brunette's dark eyes unwaveringly with my own. My voice harder, colder than I intend it to be. But necessary, maybe. "It's not the same thing at all. So stop trying to compare him to you, Angel. The two of you are _completely_ different."

The vampire seems to shrink back, backtracking immediately. Looking a little surprised by the severity of my reaction to him. "I wasn't trying to make you mad," he says, unfolding his arms again. "I just…can you explain it to me? Why _him_?"

That, at least, is an easy one. "Because I chose him."

An easy question for me to answer, apparently not an easy answer for Angel swallow. He turns away from me and shakes his head.

"You said your…demon chose him," Wesley clarifies, his voice thoughtful. "The demon inside you, that makes you the Slayer?"

"Yeah," I say, turning my attention back toward him. "Something about…wanting to bond with the strongest mate, or something equally as creepy. I don't know." I frown a little and bite down on the inside of my cheek. "There's still kind of a lot we don't know."

"And you said there's only been one other couple before you?" he presses me, looking a lot like he'd love to be taking notes on all this right now.

I just nod and say, "That we know of. And even then, what we know about them isn't much."

"Even so," Wesley says, shaking his head. Sounding a little awed by it all. "The fact that you managed to survive the claim when the Slayer before you didn't, that Spike was able to keep himself from draining you…" He trails off, still eyeing me appreciatively. "It's quite fascinating, really."

"Wes," Angel bites out, his voice hard.

The ex-Watcher turns and blinks at him. "What?"

Exasperated, Angel turns wide brown eyes to my right, focusing in on Cordelia, still sitting beside me on the loveseat. Looking for support, probably. But she just shifts over and drops her elbow down to her knee, propping her head in her hand.

"I dunno," she says coyly, shrugging. "I think it's all kind of romantic." At Angel's deadpan expression, she straightens and adds, "Okay, apart from Spike looking like Billy Idol's hotter younger brother." She pauses and looks toward me. "And being a cold blooded killer who's tried to do me in more than once."

"And that's exactly my point," Angel says, pointing a finger at her like she's just made his argument for him before turning the finger toward me. "He's a _killer,_ Buffy."

Unfazed, I simply keep my eyes on his and say, "So were you."

"It's not the same _thing_ ," he shoots back. Again.

Jeez, is that the only argument he knows how to make?

"And that's exactly _my_ point," I argue, watching as Angel shakes his head and turns his back on me, storming toward the other side of the lobby.

Frustrated, every inch of my skin tingling and just a little too hot, I get to my feet and follow him, grabbing him roughly by the elbow and turning him back around to face me. "Hey," I say sharply, glaring up at him, "you asked me to explain and I'm trying to."

A heavy silent beat passes between us as the vampire seems to think about that, and then he sighs, turning fully back around to face me. Raising his eyebrows to indicate that he's listening.

I let go of his arm and inhale, then exhale through my nose. Shake my head and start to speak. "Things were never…good with us, Angel. I mean, even when things _were_ good they weren't good. Not really. Things were never…simple. We were like…" I trail off, looking for the right words. The best way to explain to him what it is I'm thinking. That this less about him and me and way more about me and Spike. Not about what he _isn't_ , but about what Spike i _s._ Finally figuring it out, I snap my fingers and turn back to him. "Okay, we were like a square peg and a round hole. And as much as we might have really wanted that square peg to fit into that round hole, it just…it never would have worked. Ever. We didn't fit." I pause again to let the weight of that settle, halfway expecting another interruption from Angel. When I don't get one, when all he does is keep looking down at me with a heavily furrowed brow, I soften a little and glance down at the floor. "Spike and I are…we're like bizarrely, freakishly, perfectly matched. We fit. The demons fit, sure, but it's more than that." I risk a glance back up to Angel's face, shrugging my shoulders just a little. "I don't know how else to explain it."

"See?" Cordelia pipes up from across the lobby, gesturing toward us with one hand while keeping her eyes locked on Wesley. Like she's proving a point. "Romantic."

"And this mystical demon connection," Angel says, turning his attention back to me and ignoring the brunette back on the loveseat. "That has nothing to do with making you think you have feelings for Spike?"

I gape at him.

And it's there, flooding my cheeks and threading down through my chest, little knots tightening deep down in my gut, before I can blink. Anger. Not frustration, but rage. Boiling, bubbling hot, and everywhere all at once. Like it's pumping in my veins instead of my blood. I have to stop myself from reaching up and popping him in the nose again, or maybe trying out that whole toss him across the room thing, just because.

"God, I don't _think_ anything," I snap at him, forcing my hands to curl into hard fists at my sides to keep me from acting out the violent impulses tingling in my fingers. "I know."

"Or you _think_ you know," he counters, oblivious to the storm brewing just behind my eyes.

I'm starting to see red. And somewhere in the logical side of my brain, the side not driven my impulse or anger or the demon that's making itself very much known in this moment, I recognize that I should go. I should get out of here before I make a mess on the pretty patterned floor.

God, after everything, after hearing _everything_ , he still wants to believe there's something else going on here. So typical. I'd never really thought much of it before when Spike had called Angel self-righteous, but he isn't wrong. Maybe before I'd been a little too self-righteous myself to notice.

I'm not even sure what I'd expected.

"And you wonder why I didn't bother to tell you," I say heatedly, turning my back on him and marching back toward where I left the tattered remains of my blue blouse on the loveseat. The next words come out on a hiss before I can stop them, just under my breath, "God, I'm so glad I didn't call when the Council thought it was you."

"They thought it was me?" Angel echoes, his voice carrying across the open lobby.

"The Council knows about this?" Wesley asks at the same instant, his voice much quieter, and much closer to me.

I snatch my blouse up off the loveseat and whirl back around to answer them both just as the glass door opens and Cordelia calls casually up to my vampire.

"Spike," she says, shifting a little further back onto the loveseat. "Long time no see." She waves a hand dismissively at the black on black, the long leather duster, and says, "Still tragically behind the times, I see."

"Cordelia," he responds flatly, looking completely unruffled as he descends the stairs and nods his head toward her in the same dismissive manner as her hand wave. "Hear you get the big visions now. Must be nice to have somethin' actually goin' on in that head of yours."

A beat passes as they stare at each other.

Then Cordelia turns to glance over at Wesley and Angel and shrugs, saying, "Yeah, still not quite seeing the appeal there."

Spike just smirks wryly at her and continues down into the lobby, turning his eyes to me. His expression softens almost instantly, though whether he's feeling the full extent of my anger I can't tell. Or maybe he's just already doing that wiggy calming thing he seems to be able to do from a mile away. I don't know. Don't care. I'm just so completely relieved to see him standing in front of me, holding up the little plastic bag from whatever corner store he'd stopped in.

"Not much of a surprise, but I did manage to find one of those bloody disgusting power bars you seem to like so much…" He stops talking when I urgently launch myself at him and wrap my good arm around his neck. I don't know why, can't explain the sudden, wild pull toward him. It just seems so necessary in this moment. Being close to him. In his arms, pressing my lips to his.

So I just do it.

When I finally pull away, his eyes are open, wide. Stunned. Long lashes fluttering as he asks me slowly, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," I say, slightly breathless from the kiss. I slide my arm away from his neck and slide it down to his chest, step back a little. I take the plastic sack from him. "Are you ready to go?"

Still looking a little stunned he cocks a brow at me. "Been ready since we bleeding got here, luv."

"Good," I say, nodding. "Let's go."

I start to move him back in the direction of the door, but Wesley's voice stops me. "What did you mean about the Council thinking it was Angel?"

"Told him that, did you?" Spike murmurs, sounding annoyed.

I ignore him and turn back around to face Wesley, cheeks still flushed hot, and say flatly, "When they first found out about the situation, they assumed it was Angel that I'd chosen."

"And you didn't bother to let me know that?" Angel presses me, his arms folded tight across his chest. Eyes narrowed, accusing again. Just this small exchange and I can already feel Spike growing increasingly more agitated by the second, his muscles like they're coiled to spring beside me.

"It wasn't any of your business," I tell Angel simply, pressing my shoulder more firmly into Spike's in an attempt to ground him to my side, to prevent another vampire brawl.

Across the lobby, Angel scoffs at me. "You don't think that _made_ it my business?"

I don't bother to answer. Mostly because again, he's not entirely wrong. I probably should have called. I had planned to call. I'd just…never gotten around to it.

But I'm so not in the mood to admit that to him.

"Did they ever say why?" Wesley pipes in, his own arms folded over his chest, but much more loosely than the vampire's behind him.

I look toward him and open my mouth to answer, then pause, shutting it again. I think the question over, frowning just a little. Had they ever explained that? I can't quite remember, but I don't think so. I shake my head and say, "We figured they just assumed that because of our history."

"Ancient history," Spike mutters under his breath.

"Do they still think it's me?" Angel asks, his eyebrows raised.

I keep my eyes glued to his. A beat passes. Then another. Then I sigh, shoulders sagging and admit, "Yeah. Probably. I haven't exactly had time to tell them otherwise." Angel and Wesley exchange an all too knowing glance and I jump in to add, "But it doesn't matter now. The Council's long gone."

This snaps both of their attentions back to me, and I realize a little too late it hadn't been the most tactful thing to just…throw out there.

Oops.

"The Council was here?" Wesley presses, unfolding his arms and taking a few steps toward me. He points down to the ground for emphasis. " _In_ Los Angeles?"

I shake my head immediately. "No, no, in Sunnydale. As far as I know they never actually came here. It…" I sigh, getting the feeling from the stricken expression on Wesley and Cordelia's faces that now I have to explain myself again. "Giles called them. For help, or books or something, any information they had on our situation." I glance toward Spike, more in need of solidarity than anything else. "And they sort of jumped the gun and flew out for a visit instead. But I took care of it," I say, turning back around to face front again, "so there's nothing to be worried about now."

Wesley doesn't look convinced. He frowns at me, glancing down at the red-carpeted steps just behind us as he asks, "The Council's just…let _this_ go then, is that it?" He gestures pointedly between the two of us.

I make a face at him, hesitating to answer that particular question. Mostly because it won't be the last question. Probably just the start in a long string of questions I hadn't wanted or planned on answering tonight.

When it becomes clear to me that no one's planning to let this bit go, I sigh again and admit, "We never told them we completed the connection. As far as they're concerned, it's all still big with the being theoretical."

"You kept this from them?" Wesley asks, sounding equal parts mildly appalled and impressed.

"Well, yeah," I say, my voice small now. "I mean, we'd already completed it by the time they showed up," I explain, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a jumble, feeling worse about the whole not calling to warn any of them thing by the second. "And then they were all super convinced it was Angel and Spike wasn't really even a blip on their radar. And I didn't know if they were there to help or hurt, so I just…"

"Let them think it was me," Angel finishes for me, his expression dark, voice resigned.

Like this one small fact does more to convince him of my genuine feelings for the vampire at my side than anything else I might have done or said. And I guess I can see why.

Because I know looking at the darker vampire now, someone I know I'd been in love with once before, that if I could go back and make a different decision about how I'd handled the Council I wouldn't.

Even if I do feel a weird, twisty kind of guilt in my stomach when my eyes meet his now.

Wesley clears his throat. "Well, I can't say I blame you for wanting to keep them in the dark." He glances over his shoulder toward the brunette vampire and sighs before turning back toward me. "But I'm afraid it doesn't sit well with me that the Council might still be thinking it's Angel they need to be worried about."

"Me neither," Cordelia agrees, getting up to her feet now, too. She glances toward Angel. "The last time these guys showed up here didn't…both of you almost end up dead?"

Wesley nods in quiet agreement and adds as an afterthought, "And should they decide to take matters into their own hands again…"

"They won't," I promise quickly, my voice a little unintentionally hard.

"How do you know that?" Angel challenges me, his voice as hard as mine. And I can see it written all over his face, that he's arguing with me now for the sake of arguing with me. Obviously not satisfied with the answers I've given him, and possibly even stalling. Keeping us here longer in an attempt to keep hammering…well, whatever point it is he's been trying and failing to hammer home for the last half hour.

And Spike knows it, too. Can sense it as easily as I can. Beside me, his muscles constrict again and he takes a step forward, and I'm starting to have a hard time telling the difference between his emotions and mine. Can't quite tell where his white-hot temper ends and mine begins. It's only happened once or twice, where I've found myself here. Attempting to calm him down while reining in my own verging on out of control emotions. The only thought that keeps me from letting go all together is that I really don't want to have to hurt Angel. I will if I have to. Would without thinking twice about it. But I don't _want_ to have to, and I guess that matters. Which really is the only similarity I'm noticing now between the reaction I'd had to Riley threatening Spike and the threat I've perceived from Angel. That I don't want to have to hurt him. Everything else, though….everything else has been so different. No less urgent of a feeling, still the same burning in my stomach and the itching in my fingertips, but maybe less…violent. Or maybe it just _feels_ less violent because I know logically I can do any number of things to Angel without actually causing permanent damage.

Not that I can say the same for Spike. I'm pretty certain he feels a whole ocean's worth of violent toward Angel right now.

The thought's just crossed my mind when Spike suddenly takes another impulsive step forward, jarring me out of my thoughts just in time for me to reach for him. I grab his hand and thread my fingers through his, tugging him back to my side. I must have missed something because he and Angel are glaring daggers at each other now, but I don't know why. Hadn't heard either of them say anything.

But the rippling waves of anger from my vampire are telling me a different story, so I just press the palm of my hand hard into his and hope it works better than it usually does.

It seems to help a little.

"If they felt like they needed to do that don't you think they would've paid you a visit before now?" I ask the darker vampire airily, quirking a brow for emphasis.

"Because _that's_ a rock solid foundation for an argument," he says, voice low and a little under his breath, dropping his hands down to his hips and his eyes to the side.

"That," I say purposefully, "and the fact that they've actually been kind of on the helpful side of things lately." I pause and frown, sharing a glance with Spike. "Actually, it's sort of verging on wiggy."

Wesley makes a short scoffing noise in the back of his throat and asks, "Helpful?"

He sounds like he hardly believes it.

I nod and turn to look at him. "Giles put in another call."

"Handed over any and every dusty piece of parchment they've got on hand dealin' with the connection and all that," Spike says, taking in a deep breath through his nose, letting it slowly back out before adding the caveat. "Supposedly."

Ignoring Spike and keeping his eyes glued to me, Angel asks, "If that's the case, then why haven't you bothered to tell them it's Spike and not me?"

I glare at him, tightening my hold unconsciously on Spike's hand. "It hasn't exactly been my number one priority, Angel. There've been other things on my mind." I pause to roll my shoulders back, adding, "And I'm not in a huge hurry to go all boat rocking now and risk losing their help."

"What more do you need their help with?" the ex-Watcher asks me, frowning. "I thought you said they sent you all their records on your connection."

Spike and I both kind of just let that hang there for a minute.

Then, "Slayer and I are goin' on a little jaunt to Europe next week," Spike says by way of explanation, and partially, I'm guessing, to watch the way Angel's jaw clenches and his eyes flash at the idea. I feel a little rush of glee rolling toward me as the older vampire fumes silently.

And whatever reason any of them had been expecting, I don't think that had been it.

"To meet with the Council?" Wesley prompts when everything goes silent for just a little too long again.

"Not exactly to _meet_ with them," I offer my own clarification, unconsciously looking toward Spike for solidarity again. "They just…have some additional resources that might be helpful for us."

Angel takes a few deliberate steps closer to us, the expression on his face still dark, unreadable. "And you don't think showing up there with William the Bloody is going to be an issue?"

"Giles told the Council he was an ally of mine," I explain stiffly, hating that I feel this unexplainable need to explain myself at all. "For now, they think he's coming as my back up."

The phrasing has the brunette stopping mid-step, brow furrowing deeply.

Wesley clears his throat then, and I look toward him again. His arms still loosely folded over his chest, he says, "If you don't mind me asking, Buffy. What information is it they have to offer you?"

"Records of a particular nature," Spike says, beating me to the answer this time, seeming to warm to the discussion of our trip. If only now, in this moment. An excuse to further flaunt our togetherness in front of Angel, probably. I'd be annoyed if I weren't so relieved to have him standing next to me. "Council has 'em sealed away, but agreed to give the Slayer limited access. Last known whereabouts of a certain nasty soundin' vamp."

"The vampire that was involved in the connection the first time around," I mention off the confused look that passes over Wesley's face, not waiting for anyone to ask the question before just answering it. "Giles had assumed he'd been taken out after he killed his Slayer but apparently he's still all undusty and undead, somewhere over in Italy."

"Would I have heard of him?" the ex-Watcher asks, sounding intrigued. "A vampire that old, surely there'd be references to somewhere."

"You'd think," I say dryly, feeling a weird sense of Deja Vu about this conversation, having already had it once with Giles. "But apparently the Council did a pretty good job of covering him up when they tried to shove the whole failed connection attempt under the rug. Like Spike said, they sealed most of the records involving him. They figured they weren't all that relevant," I pause, thinking that over and look toward Spike, "which, I guess they weren't."

"Not until we came along, anyway," my vampire adds, looking down at me warmly.

From somewhere off to my left, I hear a disgruntled sounding, scoffing noise.

I ignore it.

"Very curious," Wesley murmurs. Then, his eyes finding mine again, "You say he's killed Slayers before?"

"Only one that we know of," I clarify quickly, not wanting to add any fuel to Spike's anti-trip fire. "Flora, the Slayer from the first connection."

And of course my vampire jumps on that, adding a little too forcefully, "But the records claim there might be others."

"Can we _not_ have this argument right now?" I murmur, voice low, turning toward Spike to give him a look.

"What did you say this vampire's name was?"

"We didn't," Spike says dismissively, still looking a little annoyed with me.

"Pietro," I say, turning back to face front again. "His name's Pietro."

At the mention of the name, Angel visibly stiffens, his arms growing even more rigid where he has them crossed over his chest. His eyes suddenly dart to the floor, dark brows drawn tightly together.

I frown.

"Pietro?" Wesley echoes, like he's testing the name out.

I watch Angel's eyes, still on the floor. Darting from one corner to the other, like he's mapping something out. Trying to remember something important.

Directly in front of me, Wesley's still talking. "But why go all the way to London for information the Council might be willing to send here? Unless…you aren't merely going to Europe to get information on this vampire." His eyes search mine for a moment, widening appreciatively as realization steels over his face. "You're planning to go after him."

"That's a bad idea," Angel says suddenly, his voice quiet and still somehow managing to echo off the ornate walls and vaulted ceilings.

My eyes shoot back to him, but he isn't looking at me. He's still focused down on the floor in front of him. I frown again and ask, "Why's that?"

He doesn't answer me.

Cordelia steps toward him, her brow furrowed. "Angel?"

"You've heard of him," I press, not a question this time. A gut feeling. The way he'd reacted to hearing the name, the distant, far away look on his face now. The calmest he's been since arriving back at the hotel earlier. I feel myself take my own impulsive step forward, tugging Spike along with me as I do.

The brunette vampire lets out this short little half laugh, then pauses. Tilts his head thoughtfully to the side. And when his eyes meet mine again and he answers, something in my blood runs cold.

"I've met him."


	4. Chapter 4

Spike inhales through his nose and raises his eyebrows, then exhales as he says, "Gotta say, I didn't see that comin'."

"You didn't?" Cordelia asks wryly, raising her own eyebrows in turn.

"Wait," I say, ignoring them both, pulling my hand out of Spike's and taking another step closer to Angel. "Wait, wait…you've _met_ him?"

Angel nods once, his face solemn. "Yeah."

A silent beat passes. Nobody moves.

"Well, gee," Spike drawls, stepping up beside me and folding his arms. "Don't tell us everything you know all at once."

The brunette vampire whips his gaze over my shoulder, pinning Spike with another if-looks-could-stake glare. "Give me a minute, alright? I'm still…wrapping my head around this." He crosses his own arms and looks down at the floor again, brow furrowed.

"You're still wrapping your head around this?" I challenge, narrowing my eyes on him. Shaking my head. "You do realize that all we've had to go on for a month are dusty old, possibly falsified, Council records. And now you're telling me you actually _knew_ Pietro?"

Angel frowns at me and unfolds one arm to hold a hand out, palm up, in front of himself. "Whoa, okay, I said I met him, Buffy. I didn't say I knew him."

It's a distinction that probably matters but also one that means a little less than nothing to me right now. Met. Knew. It's all the same to me. At least it is when it comes to something like this. When it means we might have an actual living…er, unliving reference to the vampire we've been discussing now for weeks.

"Apparently you know him enough to be able to weigh in on whether it's a good idea for us to go after him or not," I say, widening my eyes and cocking my head.

He doesn't seem to have anything to say to that.

"Let's all just hold on a moment," Wesley says, his eyes traveling a line back and forth between the brunette vampire and me. He finally levels them on him, lowering his voice a little. "Angel, are you certain it was the same vampire that you met? Isn't it possible that over the course of your life you might have met a different Pietro than the one Buffy and Spike are looking for?"

But Angel is already looking down again, shaking his head before Wesley even finishes speaking. Re-crossing his arms, he says, "That would be kind of a big coincidence, Wes."

Which is a laughably massive understatement, but whatever.

"And we don't really do coincidence," I say quietly, my eyes still glued, narrowed, on Angel's face.

"It might be something to consider before we start jumping to conclusions." Wesley turns his eyes back to me, one hand in his pocket now, and asks, "Buffy, can you tell me anything else about your Pietro? Or his part in the connection?"

It takes me a moment to tear my gaze away from Angel. He's got this look on his face now, one that's all too easy for me to recognize. Eyes on the ground and avoiding mine, lips a straight line. His _I'm hiding something from Buffy_ face.

God knows I've seen it about a million times.

Wesley clears his throat to get my attention, and I force myself to look over at him.

"We don't know a lot," I tell him honestly, glancing over my shoulder toward Spike.

My vampire nods his head at me, then addresses Wesley. "The claimin' bit went down in 1794, near Rome. Some bint named Flora—"

"Spike," I sigh.

He revises his wording without missing a beat, only giving me a small roll of his eyes as he says, "Some _Slayer_ named Flora was in the middle of tryin' to hunt down Drac when he showed up there. Lookin' for her, I'd wager." He pauses and shifts azure eyes toward me. "Apparently he got to her before she got to him."

"Meaning she also drank from his blood," Wesley asserts, his voice flat. Not a question.

I've already explained how the whole connection thing starts.

Spike nods, tapping the pad of his index finger against the tip of his nose.

"According to her Watcher's diary she'd faced Pietro a few times before actually… _seeking_ him out." I share a quick, furtive glance with Spike before facing forward again. "The regular diary detailed a couple of their fights, and this guy wasn't messing around."

"Gave that Flora bird a real run for her money," my vampire agrees, inhaling and rolling his shoulders back.

"Anything else?" Wesley prompts after a moment.

I bite down on my lip and add quietly, "He was also described repeatedly as being reckless and impulsive."

"And especially violent?" Angel asks, and when I look up again his gaze is on my face.

I just nod and try my best to read what it is I'm seeing in his eyes.

"Sound familiar?" Cordelia asks him, planting her hands on the back of her hips and tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah," Angel says, nodding, taking his eyes off me to look at her. "But most vampires can be described as especially violent."

"And the other stuff?" she presses, raising her eyebrows.

I watch his dark brown eyes drift over toward Spike, and I can see that same glimmer of _I know something you don't know_ in them as he says, "That's a little more specific."

I don't have to have an ancient demony connection with Angel to know what it is he's thinking. It's something we've already been through with Giles, though maybe a little less accusingly. That so far, the description we've given of Pietro sounds awfully familiar, hits maybe just a little too close to home.

Spike's noticed it too, because he automatically inches closer to me. His shoulder brushing against mine, rippling waves of tension and simmering fury as the two vampires stare each other down.

Not knowing what else to do, I reach my hand out to wrap it around Spike's, letting our fingers meet and weave together. He tilts his chin back relaxing a little, though he doesn't turn to look at me.

Seemingly oblivious to the crackling tension cropping up between the vampires, Wesley turns thoughtful blue eyes to me. "Can you tell us anything about when Pietro was sired? Perhaps how long he'd been a vampire before the connection took place?"

"The sources we have from the Council said he was most likely sired sometime between 1720 and 1780," I explain, shifting my eyes up and over to look at Spike's profile. His jaw is clenched, cheeks hollowed. But he's a little more relaxed now, even with the obvious tension. The longer we're here, the seemingly easier it is for him to control his temper.

Not that it's easy by any stretch of the imagination, just…easi _er_. I don't feel like he'll fly off the handle and launch himself across the room if I let go of him now.

I face front again to find Wesley frowning, looking like he doesn't like the sound of my response. Maybe hoping for something a little more concrete. "That's a little bit vague, isn't it?"

"Well…yeah," I admit, frowning back at him. "But we didn't have—"

"It was 1750."

Every single pair of eyes in the Hyperion's lobby snap toward Angel all at once. He's standing very still where he's been standing throughout the entire conversation, arms folded, head down. Looking like he's just said something he wishes he hadn't. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

Finally, the darker vampire slowly lifts his head, his eyes on mine, and says, "Or sometime around then, anyway."

I'm having a lot more trouble than I should be putting all this together. Feeling like this is all two seconds away from getting to be a whole new kind of complicated.

"How do you know that?" I ask slowly. Squinting my eyes at him, unconsciously squeezing Spike's hand a little tighter. "You weren't even a vampire then. That was…"

"Three years before I was sired," he finishes for me, dark eyes never leaving mine. "I know."

Blinking at him for a second, I finally ask, "So…did he tell you that when you met him?"

All Angel does is nod, which makes me feel a little funny, my stomach flipping and twisting into knots. Spike responds with a squeeze of my hand.

"Which was when, exactly?" Wesley has an expectant look on his face now, too. Eyes wide, he doesn't look like he thinks we're talking about two different Italian vampires named Pietro anymore.

"Angel?" I press him after he's been silent just a little too long for my already wearing way thin patience.

"It was a long time ago," he says, his voice quiet, and yet still finding a way to sound freakishly echo-y in the open lobby.

Cordelia purses her lips. "Do you ever get tired of starting your stories like that?"

Angel shoots her a deadpan look, and she backs off immediately, holding her hands up in front of her in a show of surrender. The exchange might be funny if I wasn't feeling so incredibly on edge. Every inch of my skin is suddenly tight, feeling like it could break out in goose bumps at any second, the look on my ex's face doing less than nothing to calm the tingling nerves starting to prickle the tips of my fingers and spread up through my arms.

"How long ago are we talking?" I ask.

"1760," he answers me, dropping his gaze back down to the floor. "Darla and I had just left London after practically being kicked out of the city by the Master. Hopped a ship to France, cut a swath through Paris and the surrounding countryside, then on down into the south. She said she wanted to show me the world." He pauses, like whatever he's remembering now is maybe a little hard for him to talk about. Probably something I don't actually want to know about. "We crossed into Italy and spent some time there, wandering randomly from town to town before we finally ended up in Rome."

"And that's where you met Pietro?" Wesley asks, though it sounds less like a question and more like a statement he simply needs corroborated.

Angel nods, meeting Wesley's eyes. "Him and his brother, Luca. They were inseparable back then."

Wait. Wait, wait, _what_?

Brother?

My ears perk up, eyes widening. This is definitely new information. Nothing in our records had indicated much about whether or not Pietro was a solo vamp, though Spike had maintained the argument that there's no way he could have been. Not if he'd survived as long as he apparently had.

Something he's quick to point out to me now, leaning toward me and placing his lips at my ear, whispering, "Told you this bloke wouldn't be on his lonesome."

I ignore his not so subtle I told you so, my head starting to spin, thoughts kicking up at about a million miles an hour. Not only is Pietro not roaming around Italy by himself, but he's apparently doing it with family. And I mean _real_ family, not the ultra-creepy vampire family stuff that I still don't really understand.

Or want to.

"He turned his brother?" I ask, unable to keep the obvious surprise out of my voice. Not that I'd really been trying to, since to me, and judging by the looks on both Cordelia and Wesley's faces, it's a revelation that's worth being surprised over.

As far as I'd been told, most fledgling vamps tend to turn on their friends and family after they've been sired. Some sort of demon vengeance thing, getting back at the people closest to you, the ones that tie you to your old human life. I've never been able to get Spike to tell me as much, but I'd always had this dark, twisty feeling in my gut that that was why he never wanted to talk about his past. Why he got so bent over it whenever I mentioned wanting to know more about his family. That it had been his story, too. He'd brutalized them and maybe wasn't so much with the wanting to reminisce over it.

Something I'm forced to think about again now as Angel nods in response to my question and says, "After systematically and brutally murdering the rest of his family."

"Now that _does_ sound familiar," Spike mutters under his breath, glittering eyes still glued to Angel. He raises an eyebrow when the larger vampire turns toward him, as though challenging him to deny what we all already know to be true.

That that's exactly what Angel had done.

Angel hadn't just killed his family, though. He and Darla had wiped out his entire village.

But the brunette surprises me with his reaction to my husband this time. Or I guess he surprises me by his _lack_ of reaction. Instead of getting huffy and snarly again, he just turns his head and stares off to the side, not really looking at anyone as he murmurs, "There's probably a reason for that."

"Well, yeah." Cordelia laughs a little uncomfortably, tucks her hands into her front pockets and shrugs her shoulders. "Soulless, blood thirsty killers are kind of all alike, aren't they?" She pauses and casts an unapologetic glance at the bleached vampire beside me. "No offense."

Spike smirks. "None taken."

I frown at him, then at Cordelia, taking a little offense on his part. But he just squeezes my hand gently, clearly unbothered.

"We had more than just being soulless demons in common, Cordy," Angel says, looking increasingly uncomfortable. That same hiding something expression on his face.

I tilt my chin back and narrow my eyes, whatever patience I had before finally flickering out. I pull my hand out of Spike's and cross my arms. "Meaning?"

Another long, silent pause. And Angel isn't looking at any of us when he speaks again.

"Darla."

"Darla?" Cordelia and Wesley say it at the exact same time, their voices twin shades of a mix between disgust and shock.

 _Darla_.

My stomach clenches and rolls, not just from hearing the name but from the resigned way that he's said it. How that one word, that one name, suddenly tells me so much. The one word response, Angel's sire. The expression he'd had on his face before saying her name out loud. And what he'd said just before that…that he and Pietro had more in common than just being soulless demons. It takes me just a second or two to register what it all means.

I blink slowly. Once, then again. Then, voice small, "Oh."

"Really, Angel?" Cordelia's saying, reaching up and poking him hard in the side of the arm. " _More_ Darla?"

She doesn't get it yet. I don't think Wesley does either.

Spike's eyes are on me. I can feel them on the side of my face, my own eyes still fixed on Angel who's now quietly trying to calm Cordelia down. Frowning, my vampire leans in a little closer to me, murmurs my name, waiting for me to look up at him before he asks, "Am I missin' something?"

His eyes search mine steadily and I press my lips together, rubbing them back and forth before exhaling quietly, "Darla sired Pietro."

He literally shifts away from me, blinking rapidly. Possibly because it's a way bigger something that he's missed than what he'd expected.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike murmurs, sounding genuinely surprised, looking down at me with widening eyes before turning forward again. I turn back, too, and Angel is staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. Cordelia and Wesley have twin expressions of confusion on their faces.

"That's right, isn't it?" I ask the brunette vampire, my voice steady. "That's what you meant?"

Angel nods slowly. Then, before any of us can get a question or word in, he launches back into his story. "They spent at least a year together afterward. Maybe more, I'm not sure."

"And," Cordelia says, drawing the word out. Then her eyes dart around the room, eyebrows going up as she asks, "Oh come on, am I the only one dying to know what went wrong _there_?"

Angel rolls his eyes at her but keeps telling the story anyway. "She couldn't get over the fact that he wouldn't leave Luca behind." He pauses and thinks it over, tilting his head to the side. "Or at least…that's what she told me. That he wouldn't give her his complete and total dedication, even though in her mind she'd given him the gift of immortality."

"So she left him," Wesley says, his eyes focused on the vampire, slightly narrowed.

"And then she found me," Angel said, nodding his head.

The room goes silent again, all of us with matching bewildered expressions on our faces. Well, all of us except for Angel. He's still mostly looking uncomfortable. Not that I can tell a huge difference between his uncomfortable face and his normal face, but the shifting from foot to foot is sort of giving him away.

"Okay." Cordelia's the first to speak up, turning her back on Angel, eyes on the floor a little ways ahead of her. "Let's just do a quick recap here. Darla finds this Pietro guy, gives him the kiss of eternal life, yadda, yadda, yadda." She's waving her hand dismissively as she says this. "They have a...thing. He vamps his brother, Darla throws a hissy and leaves. Finds you." She's spun back around to point a finger at the brunette vampire demonstratively, but now she pauses and makes a face, wrinkling her nose up as she says slowly, "And then...brings you all the way out to Rome just to make her ex-boyfriend jealous?"

My eyes widen a little. Beside me, Spike's lips curve into a wicked smirk. Wesley's making a big show of not making direct eye contact with Angel. And the vampire himself is looking like he hadn't seen that coming at all.

"What? No." He frowns deeply, brow furrowing. "I mean, not _just_ to make him jealous. It was like six years later. And she also liked terrorizing the Catholic Church." He sniffs and drops his hands to his hips, murmuring, "She wanted to drain the Pope."

Beside me, Spike suddenly bursts out laughing. A real laugh, the kind that sounds like it's bordering just slightly on hysterical, a bright, gleeful jolt shooting across the connection toward me as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. "Oh," he breathes, dropping his gaze level with the older vampire's again, reaching up to wipe the corner of his eye. "This is brilliant. You were the queen bitch's bloody _rebound_."

"You really wanna talk to me about being a rebound?" Angel challenges, giving Spike a hard look.

The smile vanishes from my vampire's face in a flash, his fists curling into fists so tight that I can feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Okay, right now? So not the time for this vamp vendetta. I tug on Spike's hand, shifting my eyes sideways toward his and giving him a subtle shake of my head. It has a double meaning. No, don't start another fight right now.

No, you're not a rebound.

He already knows this. I know he does. Or at least he does ninety-five percent of the time. The other five percent is a little…hit or miss. When his remaining humanity shines through and he allows me to see the different insecurities that still somehow manage to plague him. A five percent that seems to increase when he's anywhere near the vicinity of Angel, specifically.

I have a feeling it has to do with a lot more than just me. Years and years of perceived inadequacies intensified by Angelus and his intimidation and Drusilla's unfaithfulness and God knows what all else, the things he refuses to tell me about.

Another overwhelming feeling hits me in my stomach at the flash of uncertainty on his face, another powerful and out of nowhere urge to be close to him. This time, it's to shift forward and press a kiss to the side of his cheek. He melts almost instantly, eyes softening as they look into mine. Tension releasing in his shoulders, his lips quirk a little and he nods his head, turning back to face forward.

Angel's brooding at us. That's honestly the only way to describe the sour expression on his face now.

"How long were you and Darla in Rome with him?" I ask him, ignoring his furrowed brow and darkened eyes.

Angel tilts his head back. "Not long."

"How long?" I ask again, more slowly this time. My voice growing hard.

"A month," he says after a minute. Then adds quickly, "Maybe two, three at the most. Like I said it was a long time ago."

I gape at him.

 _I just met him, Buffy. I didn't know him._

Please.

"Three _months_?" Spike asks, narrowing his eyes and leaning slightly forward. He scoffs, clearly irritated. "That's what you call meetin' someone? You spent months with the wanker."

Angel immediately moves to defend himself, but Wesley steps in, cutting him off before he can. "Spike's right," he says, folding his arms over his chest and turning to pin the brunette under an intensely scrutinizing gaze. "Three months is a good deal longer than what you indicated when you claimed to have merely 'met' him, Angel."

"I take it back," Spike purrs happily from beside me, an appreciative smirk on his face as he appraises the man in front of him. "I _do_ like you."

"I…" Wesley trails off, glances toward the bleached vampire and furrows his brow. "When did you say you didn't?"

"Oh." Spike frowns, squinting his eyes. "Maybe I was just thinkin' it."

"Right," the ex-Watcher says slowly, then turns to focus back on Angel. "Besides your three month tenure in Rome, and the fact that you clearly know Pietro better than you'd been letting on…you don't just know him, Angel." He inhales slowly. "You're related to him."

Angel nods his head somberly and directs his eyes to my husband, brown and blue locking together. Then he says coldly, "We both are."

 _Oh_.

I can't believe I didn't realize this before. If Darla sired Pietro three years before Angel…what did that make them? Some sort of freaky vampire half-brothers? And if that's true then what does that make Spike? Pietro's…great-nephew? This vampire we've been talking about in nothing more than theory for the last month is part of their family, or their bloodline, or their…whatever.

He's an Aurelian. A descendant of the Master.

Just like Angel and Spike, both.

I swallow and turn toward Wesley. "Remember how I said we don't do coincidences?"

"I'll assume from your reaction that the circumstances surrounding Pietro's siring were never mentioned in any of the Council records you have," he says, looking a little shaken himself.

"Those records didn't even give an exact date for when he was sired, let alone which vamp it was that did the actual siring in the first place."

Though thinking about it now, it sure seems like something that might have been worth mentioning if they'd had any knowledge about it. I frown to myself, thinking over the possibility. Whether or not I believe it's possible now that the Council might still be keeping things from me even after being all showy about making nice and being helpful. Of course it's possible.

Or maybe they just hadn't known?

"I suppose it's possible they never actually knew," the ex-Watcher muses, echoing my thoughts and glancing down to the floor, staring at like he's searching in the swirling pattern for answers. "Or perhaps they scrubbed it out when they were busy trying to eradicate Pietro from the known records."

"But why would they do that?" I ask, more thinking out loud than actually asking. I glance toward Spike to find him already looking at me, a twin look of confusion on his face and on mine. "What purpose would there be to hide _that_?"

It wasn't like they'd tried to hide that information when it came to Angel. So what was it that had made Pietro different? Was it just the connection? The fact that he'd been bonded to and subsequently drained a Slayer during their failed claim attempt? But even then, that doesn't make sense. Spike had killed Slayers and that had been included, albeit maybe a little vaguely, in the records on him.

So...what then?

Wesley meets my eyes seriously when I ask the question out loud, saying, "I'm afraid that's a question you'd have to ask them."

"We'll add it to the list," I mutter wryly. Then gently untangle my hand from Spike's and turn to the side, begin pacing back and forth. My head is still spinning a little, trying to wrap itself all the way around this very new, very freaky development. Hands on my hips, I drum my fingers against the denim and bite the inside of my cheek. "So…okay. Darla sired this vamp, so he's got _that_ going for him-note the heavy sarcasm. Which means the three of you are all related somehow." I stop pacing and turn, gesturing between the two vampires for emphasis. "So extension of your already _supremely_ wiggy family tree aside…what's he like?"

I've directed the question at Angel. He stares at me blankly, blinks a few times. Then says, "We weren't exactly best pals, Buffy."

"No," I say, rolling my eyes toward the vaulted ceiling. "I mean…is he as bad as the Council's made him out to be?"

Angel levels his gaze at me, expression dark and voice low. "He's worse."

 _Whoa_.

Talk about your major dose of Deja Vu.

The force of the moment catches me completely off guard, head spinning as a dizzying sort of vertigo hits me. The moment feels so creepishly similar to that night in the old high school library, the gang gathered around the table at the center of the room. _He's worse._ The way the brunette vampire's said the words just now, it's exactly the way he'd said it about Spike then. Right down to the grim expression on his face and the severity in his voice. As if there hadn't been enough subtle but bizarre coincidences-that-aren't when it comes to Spike and Pietro already. This moment right now only serves to drive that point home with extra pointy clarity.

But if either Cordelia or Angel have noticed or are as wigged by the similarity as I am, neither of them shows it. Cordelia just raises her hand up and glances around, like she's wanting to ask a question.

"Umm, yeah. What kind of worse are we talking here?" she asks, lowering her hand once more, her gaze now focused again on the vampire in front of her. "Like…Angel before he's had his first cup of coffee worse? Or..." her eyes shift subtly to mine, "Angelus worse?"

Angel turns to her and murmurs, "What do you think?"

She nods, presses her lips together and murmurs, "Just making sure."

I reach a hand up and run it through my hair, wincing a little as I do, completely forgetting in all the excitement about Angel and Pietro that I actually still have a knife wound running down my left arm. I frown but brush it off, shaking my head at Spike when a slow wave of concern spreads toward me. The wound isn't bleeding anymore, so barring the potential that the blade itself is cursed, I figure I'm going to be fine.

My arm is the least of my concerns right now.

Dropping my hand back down to my side again, I say, "Okay, so…this guy's bad. Dangerous, possibly a loose cannon." I press my lips together and consider this, then turn toward Spike. "But we kind of already knew that."

"Not _possibly_ a loose cannon, Buffy," Angel corrects me, stepping toward me for the first time. Arms still folded defensively over his chest, he looks down at me. "He is. Or at least he was back then."

"And one that was mentored by Darla," Wesley adds thoughtfully, his voice very low and quiet. Eyes still down on the floor.

He doesn't have to say anything else. I'm pretty sure we all know what it is he's getting at. Angel breaks eye contact with me and glances back toward his friend, a brief flicker of hurt passing over his face. But I don't have the time or the patience for him feeling sensitive over his past, so I just push forward and ask him my next question to draw his attention back to me.

"Are you saying you don't think I could handle him if I had to?"

Angel tilts his head a little to the side and looks at me like I've just taken what he thinks is a massively more complicated idea and way oversimplified it. He unfolds an arm to gesture toward me and says, "It's not that you _couldn't_ —"

"Just that you shouldn't," Spike supplies, finishing the sentence for the older vampire.

The two of them exchange a brief glance, and for the first time all night it isn't charged with murderous intent or jealous rage. In its place all I see, the only thing I _feel_ , is a sort of subdued, grudging agreement.

My mouth drops open in disbelief, my eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

Oh.

Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding.

My cheeks over heat, the tingling I'd thought had gone out of my fingers all together returning with a vengeance. Of course this would happen. Of course they would find some way of putting their ridiculous rivalry aside only to somehow make my life more difficult.

Stupid vampires.

"Seriously?" I ask, eyes blazing. "Ninety-nine percent of the time you two are either hurling insults at each other or threatening to tear each other's throats out, but _this_ you can agree on?" They exchange another look, and this time it's guilty and a little bit uncomfortable. Oh, like it's okay for them to agree with each other, just not for me to point it out? Annoyed, narrowing my eyes first on my husband and then on my ex, I snap, "I _am_ still the Slayer, ya know. God, am I the only one here that remembers I've taken both of you on at your worst and still won?"

"No," Spike says evenly, reaching out and grabbing me gently by both elbows, his touch so feather light that I honestly hardly feel it. His eyes search mine, and for a moment I forget where we are. That it isn't just the two of us standing here, and I let him tug me closer to him. Voice low, mesmerizing, he says, "Know you're more'n capable of takin' care of yourself, sweetheart. Seen it time and time again, yeah? But if 's gonna be an unnecessary risk—"

My eyes flash, his spell broken, and I pull my arms out of his grip. "It's _not_."

"It is," Angel murmurs, prompting both my vampire and me to turn and glare hard in his direction. He shifts back on his heels a little ways, blinking at us. "What?"

I turn back up to glare at my husband, then turn on my heel, storming back toward the staircase and the front door. My intention isn't to leave, just to get a little space away from prying eyes. I'm not super excited about getting into one of our arguments in front of the entire Angel Investigations team. Behind me, I hear Spike let out a frustrated growl, and then he's suddenly right there beside. Taking my good elbow in his hand, he tugs me gently back around to face him. Then, whether he's sensed my intention or can simply see what I'd been trying to do written on my face, he sighs. Nods. We maneuver ourselves back toward the stairs until we're safely out of earshot of at least Cordelia and Wes.

Once we reach the steps I pull my arm out of his hand again and ask heatedly, "What the hell was that?"

A sharp flash of irritation tingles its way down my back. Mine and his.

"Hey now," he says, voice low, eyes narrowed. "No need to get your knickers twisted, alright?"

"First Giles and now Angel?" I hiss back at him, raising my eyebrows. "Are you really _that_ desperate not to go on this trip?"

I watch Spike lean a little bit away from me, the irritation in his eyes burning bright, hot as it burns its way up into my chest and spreads between my shoulder blades. There's a tiny bit of hurt there, too. "Just tryin' to keep you safe is all."

"And how safe am I gonna be the next time the connection shorts out and it's _you_ who can't move?" I challenge him, the words tumbling out in an urgent, low whisper.

I know instantly that they've done their job.

I know it, see it written on his face a half second before I feel it washing over me. His resolve weakening, cracking around the edges as he stares down at me with bright eyes. Like he's only just now realized why it is exactly I've been pushing so hard for answers, for some better understanding of how to control the link that bonds us together.

Because there's a chance the same link that ties us together could be the thing that rips us apart.

All the times, the million arguments we've had over the trip, over searching for Pietro, what the risks and consequences might be of going through with it, I've never once thought to put it like this. That there's every possibility someday our positions could be reversed. Different than that night in the tunnels beneath the hospital, different than my nightmares. There could come a time where my life is the one in imminent danger, and I could be the one to silently and unintentionally command him to stay safe and away from me.

How could I have not realized it before now?

"That's not fair," he says softly, nearly every trace of anger gone now.

I soften a tiny bit, too. Bite down on my lip. "Now you know how I feel."

"I'm sorry, luv," he breathes out, an unneeded stream of air as his shoulders sag forward. He glances away from me, eyes focused on the ground at our feet. "'S just...this trip was already makin' me crazy, yeah? Had a bad feelin' about it from word go." He shakes his head. "Somethin' about this vamp ain't sat quite right with me since findin' out he was still among the undead."

I don't want to admit that he'd apparently been right to feel that way. More right than his vampy intuition had probably even realized. Like the fact that not only do the two vampires bare a striking resemblance to one another on paper, but apparently they're related, too.

"I guess we kind of know why now," I say quietly, carefully folding my arms low across my waist, being careful not to jostle my left arm too much in the process.

"Yeah." He purses his lips thoughtfully, shifts his gaze back up to my face. Then he sighs again, the sound more annoyed this time, and gestures absently back in the direction we've just come from. "And after hearin' everything that poncey prick had to say—"

"You're really gonna let what Angel says change your mind?" I ask, cutting him off, a wry, disbelieving expression on my face.

Spike's eyes narrow dangerously on me. But the connection is soft, and his voice is teasing when he says, "Oi, now that's _really_ not fair."

My lips quirk slightly, itching to curve up into a smile. I step up a little closer to him and tilt my head to the side, turning my hand around so I can press just the tips of my fingers against his. "I know you're worried about me," I tell him softly, glancing down at our hands for a second before looking back into his face. "And I know you want to keep me safe, and I love that. But I can handle myself. And God, Spike, at this point there's more at stake in _not_ going."

He looks like he wants to argue with me some more. Purses his lips and sucks in his cheeks as gazes down at me, like he's trying very hard to keep his instinctive response safe on the tip of his tongue. Finally, his jaw relaxes and he nods his head. Just once, but that one tiny, subtler than subtle movement tells me so much.

I offer him a small smile before turning back around to head for the center of the room again.

Lightning fast, his hand closes over mine and he tugs me back to him. I spin into his arms where he traps me against his chest, holding me gently, a serious expression on his face again.

"And if it comes to a fight?" he asks, arching a brow.

I answer evenly, and more confidently than I feel, "There's no guarantee it'll come to a fight."

"True," my vampire concedes, azure eyes sparkling at me. "But you heard the poofter. Pietro's got himself a brother. Two against two, pet. Even if this bloke wasn't already bad news...those odds are just barely even at best."

He isn't wrong.

But I mean, really. Has he forgotten who he's talking to? Just barely even odds are still better than most Buffy battles. Still, I'm not stupid. I understand that having barely even odds is something to be at least a little concerned about, even if it's not anywhere even near the ballpark of convincing me not to go on the trip at all.

"You're right," I admit, letting my eyes drift to the side. They catch and meet Angel's darker ones from across the lobby, and it hits me. Why it hadn't occurred to me before, I'm not sure. Probably because I know it's not going to go over well, on either side. But now, the idea is enough to bring another slow, curving smile up to my lips. I turn back toward Spike and ask, "But what if it were three against two?"

We've been driving too fast down the freeway for maybe five minutes in a tense, seething quiet before I finally attempt to break the silence. "Okay, I know you're mad."

"Mad?" Spike asks, not looking over at me. He's not yelling. He's doing that thing he does where his voice is very smooth and quiet, barely above a rumbling whisper. Which is always so much worse. "Mad, my darling, doesn't even _begin_ to cover it."

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and bite on it, trying to decide if it's better to let him be angry or if I should try and calm him down. The connection is strained between us, rumbling anger from him and soft guiltiness from me.

Another moment goes by as Spike maneuvers the car around a truck driving only ten miles over the speed limit.

Then I begin with, "Okay—"

"I'm bloody furious."

I freeze at the irritation in his voice, pursing my lips and pushing them to the side. Well, at least it's out in the open now.

I turn toward him on the bench seat. "Spike, calm down."

"I am calm," he snaps, his hands tightening on the steering wheel and not sounding calm at all. "It's you that's lost their sodding mind. What the bloody hell were you _thinking_?"

"I was thinking that Angel knows Pietro and can help us find him," I sigh.

Spike scoffs, chuckling humorously. "So, the answer is you weren't."

"Will you stop that and just listen to me? If we're being all logical about this, then doesn't this make the most sense? He said it wouldn't be safe to track down these vamps just us two." I let my head loll against the seat back, pinning him with narrowed eyes. "You weren't overly excited about that part either, if I remember correctly."

Spike doesn't respond because he knows I'm right. Just makes a short, breathy sound, a sharp burst of hot air out of his nose and keeps his eyes out on the road in front of us.

I fold my arms gently over my chest, careful not to agitate the gash on my left further. It's already starting to itch, beginning the healing process. Apparently, according to what Wesley'd found, the fancy bronze snake blade had been little more than fancy decoration. No ancient Sumerian curses for me. Which still doesn't explain the reactions those vamps in the alleyway had had to me, but that's a question for another time, maybe.

And which isn't to say that Angel and his team don't have a pretty massive mess to try and clean up before next week, the least of which having to do with probably finding sloughed off skin (both human and reptilian) all throughout the city at various "hot zones".

Ophidian order vamps are gross.

"You said it yourself, two of us equals possible disaster," I say, cradling my rapidly healing left arm against my chest more comfortably. "So let's make it three. If it _does_ come down to a fight, which we still don't even know that it will, we'll have the advantage."

"And?" Spike prompts, stormy eyes flicking up to the rearview, then back down. Switching into the left lane to skirt around a slow moving semi.

" _And_ he's the only one we can trust who's actually met Pietro before. He knows what he looks like and can point him out. That takes a huge chunk of hay off of our needle in a haystack scenario." I settle deeper into the leather seat, my eyes still trained on Spike's profile. At this speed, we'll be home in less than an hour. "Plus, added bonus: no longer needing to rely on the Council for more information."

"Lemme ask you somethin'," Spike murmurs, slow, simmering exasperation sparking out toward me as he shifts lanes again. "At any point comin' up with this plan did the thought _let's just not go_ ever enter that gorgeous head of yours?"

"Nope."

A sharp, sudden burst of anger smacks me square in the chest. I'd been expecting it and it still hits with enough force to make my breath catch in my throat.

" _Fuck_ , Buffy," he groans, letting his own head fall back to smack against the leather seat. He shuts his eyes for half a second before snapping them back open, shaking his head. "You know I bloody love you. Christ, you know I'd do just about anythin' for you." He lifts his head off the seat and looks straight at me. "But you're askin' an awful lot of me here, pet."

I bite down on my bottom lip and nod my head, not bothering to try and calm him down this time. He deserves for me to let him feel angry. "I know that."

"You know I'm already not bloody happy about puttin' you anywhere _near_ the proximity of this Pietro bloke," Spike continues like he hasn't even heard me, looking back to the road. "And now you want to tack on two weeks travelin' round Europe with your ex while we hunt him down?"

"I know," I say again, voice still quiet.

"And you felt all that back there, I know you did." We switch lanes again, picking speed just a little to match the speed with which he's speaking. "You really think the two of us can survive a two week Euro _trap_ without somebody endin' up in an ashtray? And by _somebody_ , I mean Angel." His eyes dart to mine. "You prepared for that to be your fault?"

"That's not gonna happen," I say steadily, my voice more confident than I feel. Because again, he's not wrong. There's totally every chance that could happen, or every chance that it could get close to happening. I'd like to think I wouldn't let it…but the truth is I'm not completely sure.

Spike rolls his eyes and looks back at the freeway. "That's not gonna happen, she says." He scoffs. "You remember we had this conversation when I'm runnin' a pointy piece of wood through his chest."

"Are you done?" I ask wryly, raising my eyebrows.

He fixes me with a hard, quick look before turning back to the road again. Pausing his rant just long enough to exhale deeply and say, "For now."

A beat.

Then he shifts his gaze over to me and says, "Two sodding _weeks_ , Buffy."

I'd probably feel worse about him being upset if it wasn't so funny. And if the jealousy he's feeling now wasn't so delicious. Now that there's not any real threat that can come from it, less out and out rage and more growly and covetous, I'm actually kind of enjoying it.

Or…my demon's enjoying it.

I can't tell which.

"Well…look on the bright side," I tell him, smiling as sweetly as I can, my head still resting against the seat back. "If Angel comes with us it probably won't _take_ two weeks to find Pietro."

He glances at me, then back to the road. Then a half second later back to me again. I grin a little wider and watch as he visibly thaws, enjoying the way he eye-smiles at me and mutters, "Stubborn bint."

There's a slow, soft warmth reaching out toward me now.

"Okay, fine." I lift my head up off the seat, still grinning at him. "Don't think of it as being stuck with Angel for two weeks. Think of it…as Angel being stuck with _us_ for two weeks."

Spike chuckles sardonically and arches a brow, eyes back on the road. "The difference being?"

"That it'll probably make him totally insane to have to see us together being all newly wedded every day."

Both my vampire's eyebrows go up now as he thinks this over. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he cocks it to the side, purses his lips in that way he does that always makes me want to cover his mouth with mine. Then, finally, a bright jolt of what can only be described as glee passes between us.

He casts a sidelong glance at me and says, "S'pose that does have its merits."

I giggle at him and glance down at the wedding ring on my left hand, using my thumb to twist it around slowly. I'd figured that might work. Not that it'll make things any easier on him in the long run, but I imagine any little dig he might be able to fit in at the older vampire, especially with my go ahead, might help in getting him to not be mad at me anymore.

Spike sighs beside me and a second later his hand is inching out over the bench seat and covering mine. I smile down at our hands, at the black lacquer polish he still insists on painting onto his nails. One of his ten thousand and one quirks. My punk rock Victorian vampire. Angel might be special, being the only vampire with a soul, but I'm certain there isn't another Spike anywhere in the world. And I guess that makes sense, too.

The Chosen One and her chosen vampire.

Though I can't shake the vibe that we're going to find out there's a lot more to our relationship and our connection, to the reason why we chose each other, than we ever thought. The similarities between my vampire and Flora's rattling around in my head, wanting to know more desperately. I'd wanted to ask Angel more about him while we were still at the Hyperion, but after I'd made the decision to ask him to come to Europe with us things had gotten a little…well, out of control, I guess.

Surprisingly, or maybe…not so surprisingly, it hadn't taken much convincing to get Angel to agree to be our tour-de-Italy. Once I'd made it obvious to both he and Spike that I was in no way, shape or form giving up on my plans to track Pietro down, and that I'd go to Europe by myself if I had to, he'd been pretty quick about grudgingly agreeing to come with us. He'd exchanged another couple tense glances, and even more tense words, with my bleached vampire during the conversation but things seemed to calm down a little between the two of them by the end. Wesley had excused himself to research the freaky serpent blade and the ritual it had been meant to be used in, Spike had insisted on redressing the laceration on my left arm, and Angel had hovered a little awkwardly next to us. He'd made a pretense of discussing the upcoming trip, but looked the whole time like he desperately wanted to micromanage the younger vampire as he bandaged up my arm.

We'd been in the middle of going over our plans with Angel, telling him what I knew about the flight the arrangements Giles had made for Spike, when Cordelia had piped up, gushing over how excited she was. Something about the food, and the shopping. Confusing all of us at once.

" _What?"_ She'd asked, her expression going deadpan when Angel'd asked her what she was talking about. _"You don't think I'm actually going to let you jet off to Europe without me do you? Oh no, buddy. If you're going on a two week vacation I'm coming, too."_

Angel had frowned at her, shaking his head and saying, _"This isn't a_ vacation _, Cordy. This is serious. And incredibly dangerous. And—"_

" _Pretty much what we do here day in and day out,"_ she'd answered him blithely, folding her own arms across her chest.

Unamused, the brunette vampire just blinked numbly at her _. "Except you won't be getting paid for risking your life this time."_

Her eyes had shot over to me, like she was looking for me to back her up.

" _Don't look at me,"_ I'd muttered, shrugging. _"I never get paid for risking my life."_

Ignoring me, looking mildly annoyed by my next to no help, she'd turned right back around to face him, saying, _"Well, I think I can give up two weeks' pay if it means I get to go shopping at the authentic Valentino."_

" _Cordelia, did you hear the part about this not being a vacation?"_ Angel had asked her on what might have been a sigh if he'd been breathing, his shoulders sagging as he'd reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She'd scoffed at him. _"Not a vacation for_ you _, maybe. But I don't think Buffy's going to need to me to be fighting any vampires."_ And then she'd turned back to me again, eyes wide, saying the words slowly and nodding her head. _"Are you, Buffy?"_

I'd frozen beneath her expectant stare, pressing my lips together and glancing toward Spike for assistance. He'd been mad at me at the time, stubbornly shaking his head and muttering something about me being on my own for this one. Slightly annoyed, I'd glanced back toward the other girl, then over to Angel.

" _I'm just gonna…stay out of this one."_ I'd smiled sheepishly and pointed toward my freshly bandaged shoulder, having had just been told by Wesley that there was nothing to be worried about knife-wise. _"Focus on the arm wound, getting my Slayer healing all up and working again."_

" _Who's going to run the day to day if you're gallivanting off to Europe?"_ Wesley had demanded heatedly, pinning Cordelia with a stern look when she'd turned her second disappointed expression of the night away from me.

She'd just blinked at him. Then, _"You can't?"_

Wesley'd looked both shocked and appalled by the suggestion, turning to face Cordelia, hands on his hips. _"By_ myself _?"_

" _You have Gunn,"_ she'd said, waving a dismissive hand toward him.

" _Oh, sure, Gunn,"_ the ex-Watcher had grumbled, rolling his eyes to the ceiling _. "I'm sure he'll be tremendously helpful with the book keeping."_

Angel'd stepped in between them then, crossing his arms and saying _, "I'm sure he'd be glad to help you out, Wes."_

That had done little to placate Wesley. He'd turned back toward the brunette vampire and raised his eyebrows, asking, _"And who wants to be the one to explain to him that he'll have to answer phones because you two are in Italy?"_

" _Oh, bloody hell,"_ Spike had finally growled, snapping, temper flaring bright and hot _. "Why don't the whole buggering lot of you tag along? That oughtta simple things_ right _up."_

"You weren't serious, were you?" I ask him now, tracing lines over the blue veins on the back of his hand.

Spike sighs and says the words deliberately. "Not even a little bit."

I sigh and nod, turning my head to look out the window. We've just passed the Welcome to Sunnydale sign. Less than an hour. Honestly, it's a miracle we never get pulled over when Spike drives us places.

"It might be helpful to have Cordelia and Wesley there," I muse distractedly, adrenaline from earlier in the night leaking out of my shoulders now that we're getting so close to home. It's late, and I actually am tired. A little too much excitement for one night, after all.

Even as far as Slayer standards go.

"Right," Spike murmurs, sounding like he's getting a little tired himself. Possibly a result of the connection. Or maybe just a result of forty-eight hours of pretty much non-sleepage.

"What?" I ask, reaching up my free hand to stifle a yawn, the yellow street lights growing a little blurry as we cruise down an empty Main street.

"It's just the two of us now, luv." We turn the corner and he takes the opportunity to slow the car down, shifting his eyes toward mine. "You and I both know they'll more'n likely get in the way."

"Probably," I agree on a sigh, shifting so I'm sitting upright in the seat. "But who knows? Cordelia could get a vision that might help us find Pietro faster. And Wesley could come in handy on the off chance we need something researched."

Spike chuckles, glancing out his window as we pass Sunnydale Cemetery. "Giles'll love that."

"Plus, hey, less expensive," I say brightly. "The more people we have the less those fancy European hotel rooms'll cost."

There's another surge across the connection but it's muted. Tired. Even if his words are hard. "I'm not sharin' a bloody hotel room with them."

"Right, of course," I assure him smoothly. A pause. "Strictly adjoining rooms it is."

"Slayer," my vampire warns.

"I'm kidding, God," I tease lightly, more happy than I thought I'd be once we pass the gates to Restfield cemetery, drive straight for down another side street, then turn onto Revello Drive. "Can't you vampires take a joke?"

Spike just rolls his eyes at me. "Find somethin' less miserable to joke about, will you?" He slows down even further and brings the DeSoto to a smooth, controlled stop in front of the house. Throws the car in park, saying, "Home sweet home."

I watch him turn to exit the car but impulsively reach out to stop him at the last minute.

"Hey," I say quietly, reaching my hand out to close around his forearm and twisting fully around to face him on the seat. He pauses with his left hand on the door handle, azure eyes on my face. I offer him a small, genuine smile and say, "Thank you, for doing this. I know it isn't easy for you." I pause, then nod for emphasis. "I know that."

"You're off your bird if you think anything's been _easy_ for me since I fell in love with you." He tilts his head to the side, reaching a hand out to feather the tips of his fingers along the collar of his button down, pulling it aside a little so he can glance at the top of the bandaged wound at my collar bone. There's a subtle flash in his eyes and he murmurs, "Know that goes both ways, though."

"Regrets?" I ask, the question feeling hedged and small on my lips. Maybe a precursor to a larger conversation I know we're going to have to have eventually, but which I'm totally happy with avoiding for now.

"About you?" Spike asks back, and his eyes find their way back up to mine. Not an ounce of hesitation in his voice as he says simply, "Never."


	5. Chapter 5

"Another pair of jeans, pet? You've packed five already."

I pause halfway to putting the pair of dark denim in my hands down into my suitcase, turning toward the head of the bed where Spike's lounging against a pile of pillows. I frown. "You think that's too many?"

His response is a blank expression and a knowingly arched brow.

Of course he does. _Says the vampire with ten of the exact same outfit_.

"Well, I just don't want to run out of anything," I say quickly, placing the jeans down into my suitcase and smoothing them down to make more room.

There isn't a lot of room left.

Mom crosses the room from the closet, her arms full of hanging clothes as she and Spike exchange a look and she says, "I don't think you're in any danger of under packing, Buffy." She lays the clothes over the end of the bed and reaches her hand into my suitcase, picking up one of the tops I've just packed. A glittering gold halter top with a gauzy overlay. She holds it up to herself and turns toward me. "But do you really think you'll need _this_?"

I stare at the slinky little top, purse my lips and push them out to the side.

I've been up here packing and unpacking my suitcase for Europe for the last several hours, trying to sort through all the clothes in my dresser and closet. What had been supposed to be a simple toss-and-go pack job had somehow turned into a two day extravaganza, complete with sweat, tears and about twenty cardboard boxes left over from the move I'd made earlier in the year, going from my dorm back to the house. Mom had suggested that it would be smart for us to go through all of my things at once rather than spending time doing it twice, so as I've been packing my suitcase for Europe, Mom and Dawn have been alternately packing up boxes for the big move.

Because somehow it had also been decided that Spike and I would move out of the house as soon as we get home from our trip.

"I'm a big believer in being prepared for anything," I tell her simply now, reaching out and taking the gauzy top from her, laying it carefully back down in its spot inside the suitcase.

Spike chuckles, reaching a hand back behind his head. "And that anything includes clubbin', does it?"

It's my turn to raise my eyebrows at him.

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was packing the things _you_ wanted me to," I say matter-of-factly, reaching forward to tap the bottom of his bare foot, the one that's been propped up on the edge of the suitcase as I've been packing, and knocking it back down to my mattress.

Dawn groans loudly from behind me and Mom laughs, a short, shocked sound. Her voice is light, mockingly scolding when she looks at me and says, "Buffy."

I just keep looking at my no longer chuckling vampire, widening my eyes a little in challenge. I swear, if he could blush, he would be.

"And that'd be my cue to scarper off. Let you ladies have your fun." I watch him smugly as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself gracefully back up to his feet. "Bout time for a quick patrol, anyway."

"Sure it is," Dawn murmurs, her arms folded up over her chest.

He shoots my little sister a pointed glance before turning to say to Mom, "Don't let her go too overboard, will you Joyce? She's not the one who'll be luggin' that thing around Europe."

I roll my eyes at Spike as he passes by me, dropping a quick kiss to my temple before sauntering out of the bedroom and out into the hallway.

There's a slightly awkward silence in my bedroom now that he's gone. Mom seems to wait until she hears the back door open and shut again before she turns back to me and asks, "Do I want to know?"

I wrinkle my nose up and tell her honestly, "Probably not."

"You guys are totally gross," Dawn tells me flatly, laughing to herself as she turns back to my closet.

"Not gross, sweetie," Mom corrects her, stepping up behind my little sister and bracing her hands on her shoulders. "Just newlyweds."

"Same thing," Dawn quips, but she's smiling at me when her eyes meet mine from over her shoulder. I jokingly stick my tongue out at her and she does the same back.

Mom sighs at us, shaking her head in faux-disappointment. Then she turns back to me and says, "Why don't we see if we can…lighten this a little bit." She steps up beside me and starts pulling various items out of the suitcase, frowning as the top layer of clothing peels back to reveal the six or so jackets I've attempted to stuff down into it. Her eyes find mine. "Do you think you'll need all these?"

It's probably a rhetorical question because the way she's asked it sounds more like she wants to say _you know you don't need all these, right?_

"Well, I don't know," I say, shrugging. Bite down on my bottom lip and ask, "What's the weather like in Italy this time of year?"

Mom makes a face at me like she doesn't know either, reaches down into the suitcase to pull out two of the heavier looking jackets and opens her mouth to say something.

"Can I borrow this while you're gone?" Dawn asks from back by my closet, drawing our attention over toward her again. She's standing there holding up one of my more infamous Bronzing dresses, a too-short, sleeveless silvery number that I'd paired once upon a time with knee high white Go Go boots and spangly silver hoop earrings.

God, Mom actually let me leave the house like that?

"Absolutely not," I say sternly.

"What?" Dawn asks me, looking dejected. Her shoulders sag forward and she drops the dress down away from her body. "Why not? You're not gonna need it."

"And neither are you," I tell her pointedly, reaching forward and taking the hanger from her hands. I glance down at the shimmery material and wonder dimly if I could still pull it off before looking back to my little sister and adding, "For at least…three more years."

I choose not to think about the fact that I was only a year, maybe two, older than Dawn when I wore this dress out.

"Lame," she mutters at me, annoyed, crossing her arms over her chest. I ignore her and toss the little dress into my Europe pile, making a mental note as I do that I'm pretty sure that's an outfit Spike's never seen before.

 _Do I still have those Go Go boots?_

"Dawn, do me a favor?" Mom asks, jarring me out of my thoughts and stepping around me to lift the big stack of hanging clothes she'd pulled from my closet a few minutes ago off my bed. She gathers them up into her arms, along with several of the jackets I'd packed, and hands them over to my sister. "Take these clothes down to your room and start packing them up in those boxes?"

"Cool," she says brightly, grinning impishly at me as she turns on her heel and heads for the hallway.

"But don't take anything," I only half-jokingly shout after her as she disappears around the corner toward her room. "You know I'll know if you do."

I turn back toward Mom who's now sitting on the edge of my bed, shaking my head and prepared to make some light, teasing comment about not knowing how she does it, but she asks me a question before I can.

"Is he doing okay?"

I blink a few times, wondering for just a second if she could possibly mean Giles before I figure it out. "Who, Spike?" She nods once. I frown. "Yeah. Why?"

"He's been quiet this week," she says thoughtfully, turning to reach back into my suitcase and pulling out two of the five pairs of jeans I'd put there. "I didn't know if that had anything to do with how he feels about Angel coming with you to Italy."

Her eyes shoot furtively up to mine before darting back down again.

Well, I guess I'd wondered when this was going to come up again. Or…at all. Mom and Dawn had both been shockingly non-talky about the decision to bring Angel, and Cordelia and Wes, along with us to Italy. I mean, they'd been surprised, obviously. More than. But as far as the actual reaction I'd been expecting, I hadn't ever gotten it. Not even Giles had seemed to feel the need to point out how potentially apocalypse worthy having Angel and Spike in such close quarters for a whole fourteen days might be. And not a single one of them had called me crazy, which you'd think would have made me feel better about the whole thing, but actually only made me feel more nervous.

Not that _that_ made any sense.

"He's fine with Angel coming with us," I lie, picking up a neatly folded stack of clothes on the top of my suitcase, turning it to face the other direction and setting it back down again. When I risk glancing up at Mom, she's looking at me expectantly. I sigh. "I mean, no, he's not _thrilled_ about it. Neither of us are. But having him there will make things a lot easier." Mom raises her eyebrows at that, so I rephrase. "Safer." _Hopefully._ I pluck a blouse off the stop pile and unfold it, shake it out, then fold it again as I say softly, "Spike knows that."

Mom thinks about this for a minute, the two unneeded pairs of jeans still folded and resting on her lap as she watches me aimlessly fold and re-fold various items of clothing on the top of the suitcase.

Finally, she sighs. "Are _you_ okay?"

The question's caught me off guard, so the answer happens reflexively. Defensive, without thinking.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask, a little too quickly, still not looking at her.

Like answering a question with another question isn't massively avoidy and obvious.

"You've just seemed to have a lot on your mind this week." She reaches her hand out to rest it over mine, stopping my absent movements and drawing my eyes back toward hers. They search mine carefully. "Normally I know you'd be sharing whatever it is with Spike but lately it seems like neither of you want to talk about it."

How do moms always seem to _know_ things? Is that something that happens when you become a mother, that you just suddenly know things? Like, everything? I've heard Xander talk about freaky Jedi mind tricks before. I wonder if this is like that.

"What," I mutter, dropping the pretense as I drop the long sleeved t-shirt I've been fingering back down, "the trip or Angel?"

"Either," she says softly. Then her lips quirk slightly and she adds, "Both."

See? _Everything_.

Even after I've gone out of my way not to really talk about either of those things this week.

"Yeah," I sigh, digging both of my hands into my pockets. "I think we're both just sort of avoiding dealing with all the above until we absolutely have to deal." I duck my gaze and chew on the inside of my cheek. Shrug. "We can't fight about it if we don't talk about it."

"Have you two been fighting a lot?" Mom asks me, sounding worried.

Which in turn makes me worried.

I glance back up again, feigning a casualness I don't feel and say, "If by a lot you mean like, a _lot_? Then yeah."

"Oh, Buffy," she says, the expression on her face making me feel a little sick to my stomach and reminding me just exactly why I'd made the decision not to bring up the fact that we'd been fighting so much in the first place.

I pull my hands out of my pockets and wrap my arms reflexively around my waist. The long gash on my left arm from last weekend is all but healed over now, so it only twinges a little.

"Is that just the way it goes?" I ask her, biting down on my lip and feeling silly. "You get married and poof—anything and everything turns into a fight like, all the time?"

Mom looks up into my face seriously for a minute, like she's really thinking about what it is she wants to say before she says it. Honestly, I don't know if it makes me feel better or worse, the fact that it's something she has to really think about before answering.

I'd kind of been hoping for a _no, of course not_. Or a _it's just a phase_. _This is nothing_. _Totally normal._

Any of those.

After a minute, Mom sighs, reaches out and grabs my hand again, tugging it gently away from my waist and holding it in hers. She's still looking at me seriously, her expression firm but incredibly kind all at once. Another thing I swear that only moms can get away with.

"Marriage is hard," she says earnestly, her tone of voice matching her face. "It doesn't matter what kind of marriage it is, traditional or otherwise. It's never easy being that deeply…involved with another person." She squeezes my hand once and softens a little, tilting her head to the side to say, "I love Spike, too, but can you honestly tell me you expected everything to be smooth sailing with him?"

Well…that's a fantastic point if I've ever heard one. True. Something I haven't spent a whole lot of time thinking about.

But I don't bother to point out now that _I'm_ mostly the reason we've been arguing so much lately. Or I guess the things I'm thinking and not sharing with him are the reasons we've been arguing so much lately.

Kind of the same thing.

Instead I just say honestly, "I guess not."

"And you both have so many extra things to be worried about already," she adds encouragingly, letting go of my hand again.

Another good point that somehow only manages to make me feel guiltier.

"Like this trip," I agree on a sigh, stepping around Mom and slumping down onto the edge of my bed beside her. "Which Spike really, _really_ doesn't want to go on."

I'm not telling her anything she doesn't already know, but it's something I haven't said out loud to her yet. I'm a little surprised how nice it feels to actually talk through it out loud.

"Because of Angel?" Mom asks me, leaning her shoulder into mine.

I shake my head and exhale slowly, eyes focused down on my hands in my lap. "He didn't want to go before, either," I admit quietly. "He thinks it's way too dangerous and unnecessary. And _God_ , Mom, he might even be right." I look up into her face, my eyes starting to burn just a little. Feeling the weight of how big of a mistake I might be forcing us to make for the first time, maybe ever. I sniffle, shake my head and admit, "I don't know if Pietro can tell us anything we don't already know about the connection or not. I don't even know why I think he _can_ , they didn't get nearly as far with it as we have. But I…" I trail off, swallowing hard. Battling back the burning behind my eyes and lump in my throat, somehow finding a conviction I'm not sure I'd even recognized until now. "I feel like we need to go. I can't…I don't know how to explain it. I just have this gut feeling that I can't shake that whatever we're looking for is there."

Mom considers me in silence for a minute. Then, looking at me thoughtfully, she reaches up and covers the hands in my lap with hers again. Putting a tiny bit of pressure on them, she says softly, "Then I think you're making the right decision."

And I don't think I'd even realized how desperately I've been wanting, needing, someone to say that to me. For someone, anyone, to stop second guessing me or avoiding talking about it just long enough to tell me that this is the _right_ move. Not just a move, or an option, but the right one. Even Giles, who's been more supportive than pretty much anyone else, had at times only felt like he'd been humoring me partially.

I smile softly at my mom, leaning my shoulder into hers and murmur, "I think so, too."

We sit in silence for a little while, my head tipped to the side, resting against her shoulder in a way I don't think I've done in years. After a little bit I sigh, the tell-tale tingling in the pit of my stomach telling me that Spike's probably just outside the house…probably in the front yard, if my Slayer senses are right. I guess it really had been quick patrol tonight.

I sniffle one last time and lift my head back up off Mom's shoulder. "You guys sure you'll be okay here for a couple weeks without us?" I ask her, glancing once more over toward the half-packed suitcase and frowning.

Mom chuckles and nods, leaning her shoulder lightly back into mine and saying, "Somehow I think we'll manage."

Dawn rounds the corner in a flurry just then, coming back into my bedroom now somehow wearing the shimmery sliver dress I could have sworn had not been on the pile Mom had handed her. She has her long, thick hair tied back in a high ponytail and white socks that reach up to the middle of her legs.

"What do you think?" she asks us excitedly, striking a dramatic pose in the center of my doorway. A dramatic pose that does a super awesome job of causing the bottom of the dress to ride up until it's just barely covering the curve of her butt.

Mom and I look once at each other before turning our eyes back to my sister.

I smile saccharinely at her and say, "I think you're never leaving the house again."

* * *

"And so it bloody begins," Spike grumbles two nights later, laying down beside me in a dark Los Angeles hotel room. A dark Los Angeles hotel room that happens to be inside the Hyperion, which means it happens to be right in the middle of Angel Investigations.

A fact that had only been exploited and exacerbated by my ex when we'd arrived here an hour or so ago and Angel had happily, a little _too_ happily, shown us up to our room.

A room that happened to be only one down and one across from his own.

 _"_ _We only have a few that are really suitable for guests,"_ he'd explained simply, opening the door for us and showing us inside before leaving to usher Giles to his room.

Up on the third floor.

Spike's been seething over it ever since.

I on the other hand have been nestled comfortably under the covers, my eyes closed, trying to fall asleep for the last twenty minutes.

Now though I sigh, opening my eyes again and reminding him, "It's just for a few hours."

"Yeah?" he counters, glancing down at me in the darkness through narrowed eyes. "That's what they all say."

"I'm pretty sure it's not," I say wryly, rolling over onto my back to stare up at the ceiling.

"This whole bloody place gives me the willies," he murmurs, ignoring me with the practiced skill of any typical man ignoring his wife out of convenience. My logic isn't what he wants to hear right now. If I'd agreed with him instead, it'd be a whole different story. As it so happens, his current game is picking apart each and every aspect of the hotel and the room we're staying in. Since I'm not playing along, he's frustrated.

The mattress squeaks again when he reaches down to brush roughly at the denim of his jeans distractedly. "Feel like there're bugs crawlin' all over me."

"There aren't," I promise him, turning my head on the pillow so I can look up at the profile of his face.

Spike scoffs, folds his arms across his chest and turns to look at me again. "You're so sure." He arches a brow and leans closer. "Did you even check between the sodding sheets before you so cavalierly leapt into bed?"

Says the vampire that, up until three months ago, lived in a crypt and slept on top of a stone coffin.

"No," I answer him slowly, propping myself up onto my elbows. "Because I'm not crazy."

The vampire responds by pursing his lips, sucking his cheeks in until the edges of the bones there are even more exaggerated.

There's very little moonlight to see by in our room, not that much would be able to make it in through the blackout curtains if there was anyway, but even so I don't have any trouble seeing him through the dark.

"Remind me again why we couldn't just pop in the car and meet 'em at the airport in the mornin'?" he asks me for the tenth time, growling a little as he swings his legs up and over the side of the bed, causing the thin mattress to squeak and shake in the bedframe as he does. I watch him pace up to the window, his booted steps purposefully loud, and yank the curtain aside.

"Spike," I say softly, soothingly, waiting for him to glance back at me from over his shoulder before continuing. "Our flight leaves at 6:30am. We have to be at the airport by 5:00. We'd be 'popping in' the car at like…2:30." I lie back down and roll over onto my side to face him, yawning loudly and reaching my hand out to pat the empty space on the bed beside me. Close my eyes again and murmur, "At least this way we can get a little sleep."

Or we _could_ , if he'd stop being so insanely difficult.

Spike snorts, and I can hear the heavy fabric of the curtains falling back in place as he says, "I'll _sleep_ on the buggering plane, thank you."

My eyes flutter open again and meet his through the darkness, a sharp pang of irritation bridged between us, flooding the entire room in annoyed heat. Huffing, I push myself up to a sitting position again, not bothering to keep my voice soothing _or_ low this time.

"Is this going to be your thing now?" I ask him angrily, face on fire and my whole body starting to heat up. "Making every single second of this trip as difficult as _vampirically_ possible?"

Spike's eyes narrow dangerously, another twinge of heat spreading across the connection.

" _I'm_ bein' difficult?" he snaps at me, pointing a finger toward his chest, his voice rising to match mine.

No. No, no. We are so not going to do this for the next two weeks. Nu uh. Mom had told me before we left the house earlier in the evening that I needed to do this. Talk to him about us and the trip, set some ground rules or lay down the law or…whichever idiom she'd used, I can't quite remember now. But the gist had been the same.

So that's what I decide to do.

Sort of.

"Yes!" I scramble up off the mattress, tossing the thin blankets aside and ignoring the loud squeaking. Marching around the edge of the bed and straight into his personal space, tension and heat crackling and popping between us as I do. "I know you don't want to be here, okay? You have made that _totally_ clear. I know you don't want to be here, and that you don't want to go to Italy and that you really, really don't want to have to stop over in London for…whatever _stupid_ reason, which is the only thing I don't know because you won't _tell_ me."

Spike frowns and opens his mouth to say something, to argue with me, and impulsively I reach up and press my finger hard against his lips to keep them shut. His eyes widen, lashes fluttering in surprise at this different kind of forcefulness. I don't blame him, I'm a little surprised myself.

There's an unmistakable flood of heat between us again, distinctly different from the irritation from before. My body responds automatically, wanting to press even harder into his.

I ignore it.

"I get it. Believe me, I do," I promise, not moving my finger from his lips. Then, lowering my voice to a calm, no nonsense whisper, I tell him, "But we're here now and we are _going_ to Italy. We are _going_ to find this vamp. And we are going to do it without fighting each other every step of the way." I pause and tilt my chin up slightly, raise my eyebrows. "Got it?"

A beat passes.

Beneath my finger, Spike's lips curve upward and he chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm. Completely disarming. He nods once, opens his mouth to nip lightly at the pad of my finger. Then, eyes smoldering, he takes the tip of it between blunt teeth and murmurs, "Yes, ma'am."

Oh.

There's an unbidden throb between my legs.

Unfair. _So_ unfair.

I sigh, exhaling through my nose and pulling my finger out of his mouth before he has a chance to bring his tongue into the mix. Forcing the expression on my face to stay stern, serious, in spite of the fact that he has to already know the effect he's had on me.

"I'm not kidding," I say stiffly, turning my back on him and starting to move back toward the bed.

"I know you're not," he says quietly, the purring sensuality leaving his voice as he steps around me, blocking my path back to bed. His eyes are soft as he looks down into my face, settling his hands lightly on my hips. "'M sorry, pet." I watch his jaw do its ticking thing and then he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, groaning, "Bloody hell, I'm tired of apologizin'."

Which makes two of us.

I tilt my head to the side, saying simply, "I can think of a way to fix that."

The switch happens before I can blink, soft and sweet to seductive in a dizzying flash.

"Mmm, funny." Spike's lashes sweep down, his right hand shifting over to the drawstring on my pajama pants. Tugging the bow loose. "So can I."

I inhale deeply, drawn in a tiny bit by the sound of his voice, the way his left hand pinches my hip and pulls me a little closer toward him.

And then I realize what he's doing, and my eyes snap open. I lightly bat his hand away and give him a firm look. "Spike, no."

He pouts at me, dropping his hands down to his sides and sticking his bottom lip out. "Why not?"

"Because we have to get up in four hours," I say matter of factly, skirting around him and dropping down onto my knees on the mattress, crawling back up onto the bed.

A second later Spike jumps onto the mattress behind me, flipping me over onto my back and settling himself between my legs before I have a chance to say anything. He smirks down at me, bracing his hands on either side of my head and dipping down to kiss along the side of my neck. "Thought we agreed to sleep on the plane."

"Down boy," I laugh in spite of myself, all the anger and tension and any desire to push him away from me flittering away, just like he'd planned for it to, as his hand slides sinuously down the side of my body. My ribcage to my hip bone, ignoring me as I turn my head to the side, forcing his lips up and away from my skin and his eyes to meet mine again. I widen them, pressing my palm into his chest to push him away. "A minute ago you didn't even want to lay down in this bed and now you want to get naked in it?"

Spike frowns down at me mockingly, furrowing his brow in faux confusion. "Who said anythin' about gettin' naked?" he asks, deftly shifting his hand around and dipping it down past the waistband of my pajama pants, teasing the tips of his fingers along the elastic of my underwear. "Leave your knickers on if you like, I'll just bunch 'em to the side—"

"Stop it," I tell him, biting back the instinctive moan that wants to tumble out and the instinctive hip arch that goes along with it, gripping his wrist and pulling his hand out of my pants instead. He frowns down at me and sighs, leveraging himself up and over me, letting the mattress creak as he drops down onto his back, his head resting against the pillows at the headboard.

"You know," he grumbles, lifting his hands to tuck them back behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, "a less secure husband might think you were just turnin' him down because your ex forehead's just down the hall."

I shift too, scooting myself up to my own previously abandoned pillows and laying my head down. "And a less secure wife might think you were just trying to get in her pants for the exact same reason."

"Bollocks." Spike shifts his gaze to mine, a slight spark in his eyes now as he says, "Happen to find frumpy flannel pajama bottoms bloody irresistible."

I make a face at him.

"Shut up and go to sleep, bleach boy," I sigh, turning my back to him, nuzzling my cheek deeper into my pillow and closing my eyes.

Behind me, my vampire chuckles. "Well, well." The mattress shifts and creaks again. "Now who's bossy."

"I'm serious," I whine, but don't do much other than give him a cursory wiggle of protest when he wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me against him, pressing more lazy kisses down the curve of my neck. "I want to at least try and get some sleep tonight. I don't want to pass out on the flight and be all jet laggy when we land."

"It's only an eight hour time difference, sweetheart," he reminds me smoothly, his hand inching its way up underneath the hem of my t-shirt, the tips of his fingers cool against my belly. "Goin' to London, not Beijing."

I grab his hand just as his fingertips brush the underside of my breast and press it flat against me, halting its progress upward and settling more comfortably into the curve of his body. "Shh."

"Oh, shh yourself," he mutters wryly, ignoring me, rubbing himself blatantly against me. "Can't fool me, pet. Know you want to."

He's not wrong. I do want to. God, I always _want_ to. It's not like the vampire doesn't know that all he has to do is look at me the right way and my body knows how to respond before my brain even has a chance to catch up. Especially now, with his hand wrapping around me and playing against the bare skin of my ribcage, the slow, purposeful shift of his hips from behind me.

The slow burn flowing between us is more than obvious.

But if he thinks I'm going to reward him for bad behavior he's going to be super disappointed.

"Do I have to tie you down?" I ask, reaching back to grab his hips and hold them still for emphasis. "Because I'm tired and cranky and I totally will if I have to."

I only realize my insanely poor choice of words after they've already left my lips.

"Promises, promises," he purrs into my ear, taking the lobe gently between his teeth and tugging, slipping his hand back down my stomach again.

I guess I sort of walked right into that.

"Spike," I warn one last time, but there's almost no force behind it now. Truthfully, if Angel weren't somewhere just down the hall I might not be working so hard to resist him. Just…not for the reasons he might be thinking. I can't shake the feeling that right now that this is more about the two of them than it is about the two of us, and there's no way I'm going to jump on board that particular train for the next two weeks.

No matter what my two-timing body wants.

"Fine, suit yourself," Spike sighs dramatically and releases me, letting his hand slide sensually over my stomach when he rolls away from me and over onto his back. "Sleep tonight, stay up on the flight." He pauses then, adding as an afterthought, "But don't complain when you're too sleepy to come out and see London with me."

My eyes snap open again.

It's the first time he's mentioned anything even remotely close to this. Usually mentions of London by me are met with a stony silence from him, and if he's ever the one to bring it up it's usually brief and something glib. What he's just said, the way he's just said it, hadn't been either.

How many times in the past month have I asked him if he'd show me around the city while we're there? How many times had he dismissed the question immediately? True, initially the only reason we'd planned to go through London at all was to speak with the Council. We don't really need to do that now, not with Angel on board, but Giles had agreed that it would have been more hassle than it was worth to try and cancel all of the flights and hotel plans we'd already made, leaving us now with two nights and one unplanned day there.

But the decision to not risk going to Council now, not with both vampires in two, is the only real thing that's changed in terms of our original plans. At least as far as I'm aware of.

So why the sudden change of heart?

"Are there a lot of tourist traps open at midnight?" I ask him carefully, keeping my voice sardonic and trying not to get too excited by the sudden possibilities tumbling around in my head. Trying not to spook him away from the mention of his hometown. Or more specifically, from the mention of showing me around his hometown.

Spike sighs again, but this time it feels put upon. Overly dramatic. I can hear the curve of his lips when he says, "Well I _was_ thinkin' I'd take you round and show you a few of the local haunts I remember, maybe swing by the old house." He pauses meaningfully to let the weight of those words settle in, then adds in a rush, "But you know, you're right, not very touristy."

I'm already rolling back over to face him, propping myself up on my elbows again before he's even finished talking. The little smirk on his face, the way his eyes are glittering at me through the darkness, tells me everything I need to know. That I've heard and picked up on exactly what he'd wanted me to.

"The house…as in _your_ house?" I ask him quickly, all thoughts of trying to play it cool going out the window. "As in the house you grew up in?"

Spike smirks a little wider at me, his eyes bright as they scan my face. I'm not sure what exactly it is he's seeing there, but whatever it is, it's making him all warm and happy. "That was the idea, yeah. Assumin' it's still there."

I smile brightly at him, a type of sudden and overwhelming giddiness hitting me in a way I hadn't expected at the mere idea of possibly seeing where he'd grown up. Maybe because I'd filed this particular topic away in the Do Not Ask center of my brain a long time ago after being told no so many times.

Which makes me pause again.

"Wait, are you serious?" I ask, squinting my eyes at him, wondering if maybe this is just a trick. One of his more brilliant manipulations. I love Spike, but at the end of the day he's still Spike. And he loves me, I know, but I also know that doesn't mean he's necessarily above cheating or manipulating situations into somehow getting what he wants.

And right now he wants me to stay…awake with him tonight.

Not that it'll change things much—or, ya know, at all–if enticing me with promises of getting a glimpse into his past is just his super sneaky way of getting what he wants. Seems to me like we'd both be getting something out of it.

Even so, I'm not really feeling anything deceitful coming from him now. No real sense that he hadn't been going to do this anyway, or that this is just some last ditch effort to get me to agree to something. What I'm actually feeling is that he'd been planning to offer me this for a little while and had just been waiting for the most opportune time to spring it on me. Granted, yes, technically…still manipulative.

But at this point I'm honestly way less worried about why he'd had the change of heart and I'm just excited that he's had one at all.

"Won't be able to go in, I reckon," Spike's answering me now, oblivious, or seemingly oblivious, to all the thoughts bouncing around in my brain. Just looking quietly delighted by what he's feeling from me. "Imagine any invitation I might'a had's no good anymore. But you can at least see it from the street—"

He's cut off when I roll over on top of him and cup his face between my hands, covering his mouth with mine. He tenses for just a second before planting his hands on my hips and kissing me back soundly, melting everything else around us into nothingness with every lavish sweep of his tongue over mine.

After a minute I pull up a little, grinning down at him. "Thank you," I say, dropping another impulsive kiss to his lips before pulling back again.

Spike smirks at me smugly, but the haughty expression doesn't do anything to hide what he's actually feeling from me. I can sense it flowing up toward me, that he's both surprised and pleased by my obvious and powerful excitement.

"If I'da known you'd be this keyed up I might've agreed to this weeks ago," he teases, making a big show of pressing the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, azure eyes glittering up at me. He tugs once on my hips for added emphasis.

I let him, smiling with him when he raises his head to kiss me again, enjoying the quiet contentment emanating from his reaction to my reaction to this new development. Happy that he's made me happy. As difficult and dangerous as our demon's bond can sometimes be, moments like this are almost enough to make me forget all of that completely. Enough to make me forget there was ever a time when I wasn't this intimately connected to the vampire lying beneath me.

"Are you sure?" I ask him when I have to pull up again for air, my lips pleasantly numb from his kisses.

"'M sure," he says, pulling his right hand off my hip and pressing it flat against my cheek, cooling the flushed skin. Then he shrugs. "Doesn't mean anythin' anyway, yeah? Just a house."

But it isn't just a house. And it means a whole lot of something. He knows it as well as I do, which is why I don't bother to disagree with him. I actually do know when it's best not to be all luck pressing. He's given me a lot more than an inch here, and the last thing I need to be doing is grabbing for that extra mile. Pointing out how big of a deal this actually is would only do that spooking thing I'd been trying to stay away from earlier anyway.

So I kiss Spike again instead, rolling over onto my back and pulling him down on top of me, reaching up to unbuckle his belt as his body presses mine down into the squeaking mattress.

* * *

Spike, Angel and I are the only three that look even remotely awake when we shuffle down the stairs and into the Hyperion's lobby at a quarter til 5:00. The darker vampire looks terrible, like he's been up all night just like we have.

Well…not _just_ like we have.

I don't miss the flush of testosterone fueled pride when Angel offers me a tight-lipped good morning and Spike very quickly asks him, "Aren't you gonna ask us how we slept?"

Angel's expression turns sour and he turns and storms the rest of the way down the stairs and into the lobby, leaving Spike chuckling wickedly and me rolling my eyes.

We're running late I know, but it doesn't look like anyone's exactly running on time. Wesley and Cordelia are both here, bags packed and stacked over on top of that weird looking circular sofa. They themselves are huddled behind the check in desk beside a loudly percolating coffee pot, looking barely awake. Giles is standing on the other side of the desk, studiously flipping through the various papers, plane tickets and proper—if a little bit falsified—documents we'll be needing today. Willow'd had to scramble a teeny bit over the past week to make sure Angel had everything he needed for public travel, but she'd managed. True, not without a little magical help, but still. Managed.

The brunette vampire had been a little less than thrilled by the fake last name she'd chosen for him.

" _O'Hoolihan?_ " He'd half-shouted after seeing the passport, his eyes darting up immediately to Spike, bypassing me completely. " _Seriously?_ "

" _Don't look at me, mate_ ," my vampire had said, raising his eyebrows up innocently. " _Red did these up. I didn't have a blessed thing to do with it_."

Which hadn't been entirely true, but it hadn't seemed necessary to insert myself into the conversation at that point so I'd been all too happy to let it go.

Willow had fixed up a passport for Spike, too, keeping his given name at my urging since it's what we'd used on our honeymoon already, and what we'd had printed on the credit card linked in some way or another to Giles's bank account…which I still don't quite understand, but again, had been happy to let them figure out.

Cordelia looks up as we enter into the lobby, calls Spike's names and waves him over. He glances down at me and shrugs, then moves casually over toward where she's standing, holding out a steaming mug to him that I'm assuming from the bitter expression on Angel's face is full of some of his pig's blood. A little warmed by the gesture, I smile at the other girl even though she isn't looking at me, and go ahead and make a bee-line over toward my Watcher.

"Ah, good morning, Buffy," Giles greets me as I come to a stop beside him, his grey eyes looking more tired than usual from behind his glasses. "How did you sleep?"

"Oh, you know," I say flatly, which isn't exactly a lie. I gesture toward the papers in his hand and ask, "Something wrong?"

"Oh, no. I was just checking over things once more, making certain everything's in order. I took the liberty of putting together an itinerary for you." He hands me a smallish piece of paper off the top of his stack, covered in handwritten notes. "Flight times and hotel information, confirmation codes, emergency numbers."

I glance down at the paper, taking in all the information listed there. All things we could easily find elsewhere, and in painstaking detail. God, it really is making him nuts that he's not coming.

"Travel cheat sheet," I say, glancing back toward him and smirking. "Thanks, Giles."

He nods once to me, then takes the stack of paper, tickets and travel documents in front of him, shuffles them against the top of the check-in desk, then turns and hands them pointedly over my shoulder and into Spike's outstretched hand.

I try not to let the gesture bother me, forcing myself to pay attention to Giles when turns his eyes back down to me and asks, "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Think we're a little over booked as it is, don't you?" Spike asks back, casting a quick but not unfriendly glance over toward Wesley and Cordelia.

"Plus, the gang needs you," I add, gesturing demonstratively. "And somebody's gotta look after Mom and Dawn."

"And the Hellmouth," my Watcher adds, raising an eyebrow at me.

I smile sheepishly. "That too."

Giles gives me a look, then pulls his wrist up, taking in the time on his watch and promptly frowning. "We really should be going soon. Angel," he turns his attention to the brunette vampire, tucking a hand into his jacket pocket. "When did you say this friend of yours was coming?"

"Gunn," Angel reminds him distractedly, his eyes focused on the mug in Spike's hand and swallowing the sip he's just taken from the one in his own. "And he was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

Just then, right on cue, the front glass door swings open, and a very tall, broad shouldered man with dark skin and deep brown eyes steps inside. He's bald, but I'm fairly certain it's the by choice kind. It suits him. Not nearly as rough around the edges looking as I'd been expecting from the stories we've heard, I watch him, curious, as he bounds down the steps casually, taking them two at a time.

"Speak of the Devil," Cordelia quips wryly, reaching up to set a Styrofoam cup of coffee up on the check-in desk in front of me.

"Say my name I appear," Gunn quips back, walking with a relaxed, sloping gait across the lobby and toward where Angel standing at the center of the room, arms crossed, frowning at him.

I say a quiet thank you to Cordelia for the coffee, picking it up but not drinking it, too interested in whatever it is that's happening at the center of the lobby.

"You're late," the vampire tells him flatly, brow furrowed.

Gunn rolls his shoulders back and nods, not looking overly apologetic. "Yeah, about that. Had a little situation." He shrugs. "It's been handled."

Angel's posture relaxes a little, and then he nods his head, mutters something low I can't quite here and turns to head back inside the office located just left of the check-in desk.

"Gunn, huh?" I ask, drawing the tall man's chocolate-eyed gaze toward me for the first time.

He smiles a little, more curious than genuine, and takes a step closer to where Spike and I are standing.

"Yeah, two N's." He points a finger at me, like he's seen my face before and is racking his memory for the right name to go with it. "Buffy, right?"

I take a sip of the coffee, burn my tongue, swallow and somehow still manage to nod and say, "That's me." I clear my throat, set the Styrofoam cup back down and gesture toward the bleached blonde beside me. "And, um…this is my husband, Spike."

Gunn stares down my vampire for a moment, eyes taking in everything from the top of his head down to his black motorcycle boots. Finally, he glances up, smirks dryly and says, "Nice hair."

Spike narrows twinkling azure eyes, voice low, and says, "You, too."

 _Oh, boy._

They continue to stare each other down for a minute, like neither of them knows exactly what to make of the other. I know Spike isn't exactly sure what to think since I can't feel anything definitive coming from him. Before things can get too incredibly awkward, however, Angel pokes his head out from his office and addresses the taller man.

"Can I see you in here for a minute?" he asks, but it's less of a real question and more of a command. "Wesley has some stuff he needs to go over with you before we leave."

"Nothing overly complex," Wesley assures the other man quickly, like he's anticipating resistance. "Just a few…housekeeping things."

Gunn nods once to him, then once to me, then turns to eye my vampire with a quirked brow one last time before turning and heading toward where Angel and Wesley are both now waiting.

"Seems nice," Spike mutters sardonically, narrowing his eyes on the back of Gunn's head as he disappears into the office and the door promptly shuts.

Which strikes me as mega weird.

I frown deeply at the door, wondering exactly what kind of "housekeeping" things the three of them could be discussing that requires this level of wiggy secrecy. Impulsively, I turn back toward Cordelia, who's just finished unplugging the coffee pot, opening my to ask her what's going on when she cuts me off with a quick shake of her head.

"Don't ask me," she says, moving around the desk and out into the open space of the lobby beside us. "I just work here."

A moment later and the office door pops open again, the three men filing back out into the lobby looking oh so casual, which immediately has alarm bells going off in my head. Spike's too, if the way his jaw clenches is any indication.

Angel's eyes meet mine and he asks, "You guys ready to head out?"

"More than," I answer him immediately, narrowing my eyes skeptically. But it isn't a lie. I'm very, very ready at this point to get on the road and onto the plane.

"Alright then," he says, nodding. "We'll meet you there."

Spike and I spend the drive out to the airport listening to Giles rattle off the ten thousand different facts, ideas and rules he has bouncing around inside his head. I'd told him the night before that he didn't really have to drive us down to L.A., and that he didn't really need to or drop us off at the airport this morning, but he'd insisted.

And now I know why.

Apparently, he's trying to fit two weeks' worth of Watchery hovering and sensibility into a twenty minute car ride.

"…when you land," he's finishing up just as he brings the car to a stop alongside the drop off curb, putting it in park and twisting around in his seat to face us. Or more specifically, Spike. "And do try to remember that the credit card is for emergencies only?"

My vampire just winks at him.

I roll my eyes at the two of them and turn for the car door handle, popping the door open and shaking my head.

"Oh, and Buffy."

I pause at the sound of my name, half in and half out of the back seat, Spike still seated to my left, and meet my Watcher's eyes. He squints at me from behind the rims of his glasses for a moment, like he's trying to decide what to say next. Then, "Don't forget to check in once a day or so, if you can." He pauses and clears his throat. "You know your mother will worry."

Right.

My _mother_ will worry.

I smile warmly at him and promise, "We'll call."

He nods back. Then, the tone of his voice switching completely to cool and casual, he says, "Well, go on. Don't want to miss your flight."

I share a quick, knowing glance with the vampire beside me as Giles turns back around to face front, putting both hands on the steering wheel. My lips curve up and I turn back to the open car door.

"See you in two weeks, old man," Spike breezes, reaching his left hand out between the back seats and clapping Giles once on the shoulder before turning to follow me out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

I stand to the side and watch my vampire and my Watcher share a few low spoken words as they lift our bags out of the trunk and set them down on the curb. Then Giles hugs me. It happens fast, and I'm not exactly ready for it, the whole thing practically over before I even get a chance to wrap my arms around him in return. Then he moves away from me, nodding in Spike's general direction once more before hopping back into the car and driving away.

"Ready?" I ask the vampire beside me, watching as the taillights of Giles's car fade, blurring into the mess of traffic from other cars leaving the airport.

Silently, he reaches down and threads his fingers through mine, and we turn and walk together through the automatic double doors and into the bright fluorescent lights of the airport.


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright," Spike says, letting the door to our hotel room slam shut behind him and tossing the last of our bags on top of the bed. He storms over to stand beside me, planting his hands on his hips as he looks down into my face. "What the bloody hell was that?"

I lean over the bed and grab for my suitcase, unzipping it and glancing toward my seething husband. Raise a brow. "What the bloody hell was what?"

"Oh, right," he scoffs, narrowing glittering azure eyes on me. "Like you don't sodding well know exactly what I'm talkin' about."

He's both right and wrong.

Yeah, okay, I have a _feeling_ I know what he's talking about, but I don't know _exactly_. I have a pretty good feeling. Mostly it's the gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I'd been able to feel Spike's irritation grow from mild to out and out rage back to a tight frustration and finally, to the slow simmering it's been doing since we got off the plane and hopped a van to the hotel.

He's been waiting to corner me about this for hours now.

My eyes shift to his once more before darting down to my task at hand, digging through the first couple layers of clothing to find one of the two jackets Mom let me keep.

I guess there's no point in delaying the inevitable. "Why don't you just tell me."

Which he does.

"Over ten hours, Buffy," he growls, turning his back on me and storming back in the direction of the door. "Over ten hours trapped inside a buggering airborne tin can next to that brooding, egomaniacal, sorry-excuse-for-a-vampire _prat_."

Yeah, that's pretty much what I'd been thinking. I turn toward my vampire, pulling my jacket out of the suitcase and holding it loosely in front of me.

"Oh," I say, wrinkling my nose up. "That."

Spike whirls on me, the black leather of his duster billowing around his legs as he narrows his eyes to slits. "Yeah, _oh that_. That your idea of a joke?"

"No," I tell him slowly, moving across the room to hang the jacket in the closet. "That was my idea of making sure both of you remained in solid, non-dusty form. And it wasn't like you were sitting right next to him, anyway." I turn back toward him. "You had—"

"Wesley, I know," Spike finishes for me, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "Some buffer _he_ bleeding turned out to be. Wasn't like his body bein' between us just magically drowned out the dulcet tones of Peaches and his woe is me droning."

Folding my arms up over my chest, I sigh. "I thought your plan was to sleep on the plane."

"My plan was to sleep with _you_ on the plane," he says purposefully. At the raised-brow look I give him, he growls, "Oh, don't look at me like that, you know what I meant."

I shake my head and cross back to the bed. "Boy, do I."

"I'm serious, pet," he says, sounding like he means it. I watch as he slides the duster from his shoulders, tossing it haphazardly across the mattress, his eyes never leaving my face. "I know we agreed that the rest of this trip would be all blood and cream between us, but I've gotta tell you, that wasn't a great start."

I probably should have realized putting them next to each other wouldn't be the smartest of plans, but at the time there hadn't really been any other great options. If I'd put Spike next to me and Angel next to Cordelia, like the vamps had requested, at least one of them would have ended up too close to a window for comfort. Even if they hadn't been in the line of fire long enough to actually, you know...be set on fire, they might have at least sizzled.

That would have been super fun to try and explain to the flight attendants.

"What did you want me to do, Spike?" I ask, tossing the pajama bottoms I'd just grabbed up back into the suitcase again, exasperated. "Put you in one of the seats near a window and let you go all human torch?"

"Don't do that," Spike warns me with a point of his finger, a quick shake of his head. "Don't do that bit where you turn this 'round and make me look like a Nancy boy because all you were tryin' to do was keep me safe." He sniffs and rolls his shoulders back, crossing his arms. "I _know_ what you were tryin' to do. And lemme tell you, it didn't work."

Well, that much is kind of on the obvious side at this point.

But it had been worth a shot.

It hadn't seemed like all that bad an idea at the time, putting Spike and Angel together in the center aisle of the plane. Over ten hours in a safely enclosed space and no pointy wooden objects available for accidental stakeage, I'd figured the chances were pretty good that if the two vamps had something they needed to work out they might have considered working through it while they were all captive audience-y. And you know what, it isn't like I'm the only one who'd thought it wasn't a bad idea.

Cordelia'd been the one to help me swap the seats.

"Let me ask you something," I say, gripping the edge of the suitcase in my left hand and angling my body toward his. "Was there ever a time when the two of you got along?"

Spike perks a brow. "What d'you think?"

I think he wouldn't admit it if there was.

Shaking my head, I turn back to the discarded pajama bottoms and pick them up again. Pulling out the tank top that goes with it and a couple pairs of underwear, I mutter, "I think you've never gotten along with anyone." A beat. "Ever."

He frowns at me, looking honestly offended.

"Oi, that's not fair," the vampire grumbles. Then a half second later, the shift happens. I watch as a lascivious grin spreads across his lips and his eyes darken, and even if I couldn't feel the very different kind of heat now fluttering between the two of us I'd know what he was thinking. He reaches forward, snatching the pajamas out of my hand and wrapping his other arm around my waist, tugging me against him to murmur, "Get along with you, don't I?"

 _Oh._

Oh, no.

No _way_.

We are so not starting the trip off this way.

"I'm in love with you," I mutter, yanking the flannel pants out of his hand and spinning out of his grip, trying and failing to resist the magnetic pull his eyes have on me. "I don't count."

And besides that, it's also not really true. I mean, sure, we might get along better now than we _used_ to...say, when we were trying to kill each other half the time...but it isn't like everything is always kittens and rainbows between us now, either.

Right now would be a great exhibit A.

I step away from him, opening the top drawer in the almost painfully ornate wooden dresser and stuffing my pajamas and the handful of underwear I'd managed to grab from the suitcase down into it. Slamming it shut again with more force than needed just as Spike's hands find my hips, the tips of his fingers dig into the sliver of bare skin peeking out below my shirt.

His lips find my ear and he purrs, "Know you're tryin' to make some point or other but all I'm hearin' is 'I'm in love with you'."

His fingers inch toward the button on my jeans.

For a second, I'm more than a little taken in by him. I'm feeling so tightly wound after the long plane ride, my muscles coiled and practically screaming for some kind of release. And even with the eight-hour time difference I'm surprisingly awake. And he's so strong and so solid behind me, smelling even more like leather and smoke than usual because he'd stopped for a cigarette on the way into the hotel. And there's a very big part of me that would love to forget my irritation and just melt into him instead.

But he can't keep doing this. Can't keep using my desire for him to diffuse arguments when he doesn't want to deal with them.

So I whirl around and press my palms into his chest, forcing him back one giant step and pinning him with a hard look. "You promised me you weren't going to do this with Angel. You _promised_ me." I pull my hands away from him, crossing my arms. "And here you are, we've been in London all of thirty freaking minutes and already you're making things difficult."

Spike looks at me like he's torn somewhere between knowing I'm right and wishing I were wrong. His gaze intently focused on mine, searching my eyes for a long moment before he drops his attention toward the floor. I feel him trying to think of something to say, a rush of emotion, a mix of wanting to placate the situation but also wanting to prove a point.

Finally he sighs, shoulders sagging a little as he says, "I know what I said, and I meant it at the time. But 's not exactly fair, is it? You know what it's like for me, luv. Know you do…you've felt it." His eyes slide sideways toward mine. "What bein' around him does to me. What seeing _you_ around him does to me." He shakes his head, reaching a hand up to cup the back of his neck. "It's not a bloody picnic, Buffy."

I soften toward him in an instant, that simple, softly spoken admission doing more to thaw the ice between us than any amount of touching his magic hands might have done. Because he's right. I'd felt what being near Angel had done to him that first night they'd fought in the lobby at the Hyperion. I'd felt how badly Spike had wanted to hurt him, how much effort it had taken to hold himself back from doing exactly that. I'd felt his anger and his need to assert himself last night, his quiet, seething dislike all day today. And beneath all of that, always beneath all of that, there's a faint but prickling need for approval that I don't think the stubborn vampire even realizes he has.

He'd probably be horrified if I tried to point it out.

But he's right about me knowing how he feels, how opposite of picnic-y being here actually is for him.

"I know it's not," I promise him, meaning it, staring up into his face and wondering if I should reach for him or not. I decide against it, opting instead to try and explain, "But that's kind of what I was trying to fix today, I think. I guess I thought if I could get you two to talk—"

"We're vampires, luv," he interrupts me on a drawl, a wry smirk twisting his lips. "We don't _talk_. Not to each other, anyway."

My own lips twitch up at that and I settle into my stance, popping one hip out and tightening my arms. "Okay, you're seriously trying to tell me that in twenty years of terrorizing Europe together you two never had _one_ non-violent discussion?"

"When it came to our women?" Spike asks. Then shakes his head, resolute. "No. Not one."

I'm unprepared for the pang of jealousy that hits me then. Out of nowhere, straight to the center of my chest at the thought of it. Women. As in…women. As in more than one. As in more than one who definitely weren't _me_.

Eyebrows raised, incredulous, I repeat, "Your _women_?"

"Don't," he growls, stepping toward me and reaching to cup my face between his hands without skipping a beat. Eyes on mine, he says ardently, " _You_ are the love of my entire sodding existence. You know that." He leans down to press his lips to mine in a quick and surprisingly tender kiss. I realize it's the first time we've kissed at all since the night before and melt into him, making a small move to deepen the kiss just as he pulls away. Brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones, he drops his voice down low. "Doesn't change the fact that you were probably his, too."

Matching my voice to his, I murmur, "That was a long time ago."

Spike gives me a deadpan expression, dropping his hands away from my cheeks and turning toward the door. I follow him, taking him by the arm and pulling him back to face me.

"What, it _was_ ," I insist.

Because to me, it really was.

It seems like lifetimes have passed since I thought about or felt about the darker vampire in that way. I don't imagine he probably feels all that romantically about me at this point, either. Too many things have happened now. Too much time has passed.

Something Spike either doesn't agree with, or just doesn't understand, because he raises a scarred brow. "It was only two years ago, pet."

I frown at him.

For a vampire, I can see how it might not seem that way. The whole being immortal, never changing, remaining exactly the same young and beautiful face you were for centuries on end…yeah, two years doesn't seem like much.

But in my life, at least the life I've had since being called, two years is a _majorly_ long time. Two years, six months, four weeks…it might seem like nothing to him, but to me it's everything.

"Angel and I…" the words trail off, choked and dying on my lips as I feel the rush of envious heat flood toward me from my vampire. I ignore it, pushing ahead to say, "We're ancient history, Spike. I'm mated to you." I loop my index finger through his belt loop and tug him closer to me. "I'm _married_ to you."

He yields to me without much of a fight, only a cursory bit of resistance before he's standing directly in front of me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He's softened now, too, like I'd already figured he would. He may have figured out my triggers through this connection of ours, but I've done my fair share of learning about his. Where he knows I go all kinds of gooey at the slightest touch of his hands against my skin, I know it only takes the mere mention of our marriage to somehow reduce both the demon and the man to a calmed, purring puddle.

Even so, his eyes are still stormy.

"Know you're mine now, yeah? But he had you first." His arms grip me just a little tighter, a possessive growl rumbling from his chest as he says, "He'll always have had you _first_."

The word is so commanding, so utterly specific that I know he means it in more ways than one. First. It's significant for a lot of reasons. Angel had been pretty much my first everything. My first real relationship, my first love, my first time. My first heartbreak. Twice.

There will always be a piece of me that recognizes what we had. And while I'm not honestly naïve enough to think that none of it matters anymore, that my relationship with Angel didn't do a whole hell of a lot to shape who I've turned out to be, I also know now that it isn't actually your _first_ that counts in the end.

"And you'll have me last," I promise sweetly, going up on my tiptoes to brush my lips over his. Smile against him. "Seems like the better deal to me."

Spike's lips curve upward, smirking against mine as he murmurs, "Well, when you put it like that."

A moment later and he's kissing me, _really_ kissing me, his tongue darting out to tangle with mine and using the grip around my waist to pull me into him. I sigh and melt into his arms, letting him nibble lightly at my bottom lip. Listen to the purring that picks up low in his chest when I drop my hands to twist in the hem of his shirt.

His hands have just found their way to the small of my back, slipping beneath the fabric of my top and making all kinds of tingle inducing play over my skin when there's a loud, sharp knock at the door.

Spike pulls away from and whips his head toward the door, a low growl pulling from his throat. "Oh, you've _got_ to be joking," he hisses, the pulsating frustration settling in my gut leaving little to my imagination as to who it is standing behind the door.

Untangling myself from my vampire's arms, I take a second to straighten my top and to send him a warning look before clearing my throat, stepping forward. Hoping Spike will remember everything we've just talked about, I open the door and situate myself in the crack, utterly unsurprised to find Angel standing in the hall.

"Hey," I say flatly, offering him a small, tight smile.

"Hey," he says back, then pauses. Casts a dark glance into what he can see of the room around my shoulder before looking back to me. "Am I interrupting something?"

Behind me, my vampire scoffs. Loudly. His footsteps echo across old hotel's wood floor as he storms into the en suite bathroom and shuts the door.

I wince.

Angel looks like he knows exactly what he's interrupted and is currently fighting to keep the smile off his face.

Suddenly as annoyed with the darker vampire as my husband is, I sigh. Say tightly, "It's fine. What's up?"

If he's thrown by my attitude shift, he doesn't show it. "Cordy and Wes were thinking they might head out and find some food. There are a few places nearby that are still open."

I blink at him. "Oh."

That seems like something he might have been able to just…call about.

"Yeah," Angel murmurs, looking now like he's realized just how obvious he's being. I stare at him as he clears his throat, stuffs his hands into his pockets. "They wanted me to come check in here, see if you wanted to go."

Again, something that seems more suited to a those handy dandy phones we all have in our rooms.

Inclining my head back in the direction of the room, I tell him truthfully, "Actually, Spike and I sort of had plans—"

The brunette vampire's expression suddenly sours, catching me mid-thought as his brow furrowing as he looks at me like I've just sucker punched him.

It only takes me a second to understand what he's thinking.

"No, no, not… _those_ plans," I say quickly, then narrow my eyes at him. "God, do you just think we're doing it like bunnies or something?"

Angel makes a face at me. "That's sort of the impression I was getting, yeah."

I blink at him, my cheeks flooding with heat and what I'm sure is a super unflattering shade of red.

Oh.

 _Oops._

I guess I hadn't even realized that Spike and I haven't been exactly subtle about how touchy feely we've been lately. At the airport, in the van…last night.

My cheeks get hotter.

"Well, that's not…" I trail off, biting down on my lip and feeling ten kinds of awkward. "I mean, we weren't…we were going to try and do some sightseeing, actually."

Not a lie. _Totally_ not a lie. We were planning on sightseeing. Still are planning on sightseeing. Spike had promised me a safe-from-the-street style tour of his childhood home, and I haven't forgotten. Actually, it's kind of all I've been thinking about today, imaging all different kinds of homes, different styles and sizes. Wondering if it would be something sort of charmingly small, or one of those big stately manor houses like you see in old television shows. I'd run through practically every scenario today on the plane in anticipation, and just because we'd gotten a little distracted…or you know, a lot distracted…that's still very much the plan for tonight.

Sightseeing. Definitely.

"At midnight?" Angel asks, obviously skeptical.

I widen my eyes. "You suggest going at noon?"

"Good point," he concedes, then leans around me slightly to peek through the crack in the door. Sensing something that I apparently can't, he shifts from foot to foot. Clears his throat. "Well, you guys have fun. I'll, uh, just...see you around tomorrow sometime."

I nod kind of absently, having not really thought a whole lot about what days during our trip are really going to be like. The five of us holed up in the same hotel, two of us housebound for fear of bursting into flame. Cordelia had mentioned making a shopping trip during the day tomorrow and I'd been more than happy to agree to it at the time, having had a burning stomach full of vampiric rage to contend with at the time. But I hadn't really thought about it. Being gone a whole day, even for a half a day...I mean, it isn't like I'll be able to leave Spike and Angel here alone all unsupervised.

I'll have to find her tomorrow and let her know the plans have changed.

"Okay," I say, sighing. "Well, tell Cordelia and Wesley thanks for...checking." At the weird look the vampire gives me, I clarify, "About the hunger thing."

Angel nods, the same strange look on his face now as it had been before. Then he turns away from me. I stand in the doorway and watch him turn, watch him walk down the hallway toward where I assume his own room is and wonder at the bizarro exchange.

When I close the door and turn back around, I'm surprised to see Spike standing there staring at me. I hadn't heard the bathroom door open again, or his footsteps cross the room.

I'm also a little surprised that he doesn't look or feel angry anymore.

In the interest of keeping him looking at me all non-angrily, I attempt a joke. Keeping my voice light, I hook a thumb over my shoulder and say, "Call me crazy, but I think he was trying to interrupt something."

His lips twitch.

"You could've gone, luv," he tells me softly, eyes steadily scanning my face as I approach him. "Know you're a bit hungry."

He's right, I am. But just a bit.

I have other things on my mind.

"And let you off the house showing hook?" I ask when I reach him, raising my eyebrows dramatically. "No way."

Spike mock-frowns, making a show of furrowing his brow as he reaches out and takes my hand. Pulls me to close the distance between our bodies. "Bugger. Was kind of hopin' you'd forgotten about that."

"Not a chance," I say, shoving lightly at his chest. Then I pause, lean away from him so I can frown up into his face. "Wait, is that your way of telling me you're chickening out?"

"Chickening out?" My vampire repeats, drawing the words out like they're offensive. He arches a brow, a haughty expression stealing over his features. "Slayer, I've never _chickened out_ of anythin' in my entire bloody unlife. It's like you don't even know who you married."

I drop my eyes down to my hands, now comfortably situated at the V of his chest. In my spot, the one I'd carved out on my front porch all those months ago. I scratch at the black cotton absently with baby pink nails. And when I speak again, my voice is very quiet.

"Do I know who I married?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike groans, moving his hands up to grip me around the shoulders and pushing me out to arm's length. He ducks his head down to force me to meet his eyes, saying seriously, "Yes, Buffy. You do. You might not know much about Wil…who I was, but pet, that isn't _me_ anymore. Hasn't been for a long bloody time." Then he sighs, a long exhale out through his nose as his eyes soften on mine. "But if seein' the house I grew up in is going to make you feel more connected to me—"

I wrinkle my nose up and interrupt him, "I don't think it's possible for me to feel _more_ connected to you, Spike."

"Right, you cheeky bint. You know what I mean." He chuckles, and the sound is warm and deep and starts a pleasant fluttering in my belly, the glowing warmth I've come to know and so much more than love spreading through my chest. Spike's hands slide from my arms to my wrists, holding me lightly, pressing his thumbs in circles to the pulse points there. "If this is somethin' that you think you need, then I can give it to you. Even if it makes bugger all sense to me."

At a loss for any sort of poignant or significant words, I just grab him and pull him to me for a searing kiss.

* * *

"So," Spike muses, reaching over and plucking a hot French fry out of the small container I'm holding. Popping it into his mouth. "What d'you think of the city so far, pet?"

"You mean all three blocks I've seen of it?" I tease him, sending him a sidelong glance and picking my own fry out. Nibbling on the end of it. He rolls his eyes and I shrug, adding, "I definitely approve of the late night snackage."

My vampire chuckles. "Good, yeah? Better'n those paper thin things they have the nerve to sell back home."

I stutter step a little, almost pausing when I hear him mention home like that. So casually. It catches me off guard for a couple reasons I think, but the most obvious being that I'd sort of been under the impression that we _were_ home. His home, I mean.

I turn and look at him, catching his eyes when he glances at me. The glow from the streetlights illuminates his dimples, the smile on his face a hard contrast to the small bit of tension I feel wrapping around his muscles as we walk.

He'd insisted on stopping and finding me something to eat once we'd left the hotel, claiming that the rumbling in my stomach was causing knots in his. We'd stopped at the first open spot we'd found, taking the food to go because the kitchen in the small-ish pub had been so close to closing down for the night.

I'd figured we'd need to find a taxi or something in order to get to his old neighborhood, but when I'd asked him about it Spike had simply shaken his head, turned and started walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the hotel. We've been walking for ten minutes now and he hasn't mentioned exactly where we're heading, passing by dark store windows and shuttered town homes, the streets surprisingly empty for a city so big.

I finish what I want of the burger in my hand and offer my vampire the rest of the fries from the to-go box before stepping to the side and tossing it in the trash as we pass by, dusting the salt off my fingers.

When I ask, I ask casually. "How much further?"

His eyes shift toward mine, glittering in the light. "Not much."

Okay, vagueness.

I bite down on my lip and nod, turning my attention forward again. Listening to the few cars as they drive down the streets, the few stragglers still out this late that are laughing and talking as they skirt around us. I try to keep my surprise to myself, shielded from the vampire beside me. Surprised that our hotel just so happens to be within walking distance of the Pratt's house. Surprised that this all seems to be more of a plan than I'd initially thought. I think I'd figured the whole telling me he'd show me the house he grew up in thing had been a way to appease me, or a way just to get me to do what he'd wanted the night before. A last minute decision, completely and totally out of nowhere.

Now, I'm wondering if he'd known already that he wanted to bring me here when Giles was setting up the first half of our travel arrangements.

"Is it weird?" I ask the vampire as I fall into step beside him again, pushing down the curiosity bubbling in my chest so I don't freak him out. "Being back here, I mean."

Spike doesn't answer me right away. Instead, he reaches down and takes one of my hands in his. I watch him as he glances around the street we're walking on, his eyes narrowed. Like he's really looking at something, or like he's remembering something. Or maybe he just really wants to get a grip on what he wants to say before he says it. Either way, it takes him a long minute before he finally sighs and glances down at me.

"Yes and no," he says, giving his shoulders a sort of half shrug and turning his eyes out front again. "Some of these streets look and feel the same as they did over a hundred years ago. Others couldn't be more different. Can tell you we didn't have a bloody American coffee chain on every bloody corner back then." Spike takes the time to make a disgusted face at one of the coffee chains in question as we pass by, the bright fluorescent white and green of the sign making his pale skin practically glow. Then he looks back toward me and says, "It's a funny thing, watchin' time pass. Standin' still, dead center in the thick of it as the world changes around you."

We walk along in silence for a little while, the sounds of our feet on the sidewalk and the occasional car the only real noise. And it's nice. Quiet, calm; not a screaming damsel or a demon in sight which, while a little on the wiggy side isn't exactly a downer. And it's just the right amount of chilly, which is a major plus in my book since it rarely drops below fifty degrees back home.

The streets are damp, reflecting the light from street lamps and store signs and the wind smells like the river when it blows around us. It must have rained earlier in the evening. The wind blows again, whistling through the buildings and making me shiver. I wrap my jacket tighter around me with my free hand, entwining the fingers of the other more securely with his.

I can't tell if the anxiety pooling in my belly is mine or his. It's too subtle to be mine I think, but it's also not quite the normal way Spike's anxiousness comes across. Normally he fidgets, or the muscle in his jaw tics, or his eyes go all shifty…but none of that's happening right now. He's tense, but not _nervous_. Or he is nervous but my own nerves, which are more with the excitement and less with the anxiousness, are masking it.

Either that or he's gotten just way too good at controlling the connection between us, in which case we have a bigger problem.

More likely than not I'm just over thinking it.

In an effort to distract myself as we turn a corner and start down a secondary street, I ask, "When was the last time you were actually in London?"

It barely takes my vampire a full second to respond. "1966, '67. Give or take a year or two." He pauses in mid-stride, glances toward the street sign in the corner, then begins walking again. "It was just before Dru and I headed stateside for the first time."

The sound of his sire's name sends an uncomfortable tingle shooting down my spine, accompanied by several less than pleasant visual images of how this same scene might have played out back then. Of the beautiful dark haired vampiress whispering something twisted or obscene into my husband's ear, the two of them strolling hand in hand as they stalked these very same streets all those years ago.

The quick flush of heat through my stomach and up into my chest drowns out all the questionable anxiety from moments ago, leaving my cheeks red and warm against the biting wind.

"Oh," I say flatly, my fingers tightening hard around his.

Spike stops walking again and tugs me back toward him, pulls me around so I'm standing in front of him. Looking down into my face with slightly narrowed eyes, he brushes his thumb deliberately over the back of my hand and murmurs, "That really _was_ a long time ago."

"I know," I tell him, sounding an awful lot like I don't.

Spike's only answer is an arched brow and the slight quirk of his lips.

Rolling my eyes at him I turn around and start walking again, pulling him along behind me as I do. "You're enjoying this way too much."

The chuckling vampire falls into step beside me. "Spent the entire bloody day feelin' jealous over you and your ex, Slayer. Nice to know the door swings both ways is all."

"Well, it swings," I mutter, eyeing him sideways through my lashes. "Definitely…swings."

On super oiled up hinges that just get greasier every time Drusilla gets mentioned. Which is all fine and great, until that swinging door smacks one of us in the face. And the way things go it'll probably be me.

"There now," Spike purrs, his obvious pleasure working to soothe out the churning that had begun a moment ago as he leans forward and presses his lips to my ear. "Was that so hard to admit?"

The tension in my shoulders relaxes a little.

"How much further?" I ask again, laughing softly this time as I lean away from him so I can see his eyes.

"Not much," Spike answers again, pulling my hand to direct us to the left and out onto a more narrow cobblestone street.

We stop walking.

I can feel the vampire's eyes on me as I glance from side to side, taking in the homes lining the street on either side. It's sort of a bizarro mix, honestly. A weird combination of both modern houses that could have belonged just as easily on Revello Drive and more stately looking homes made of stone and brick and with more windows than any house ever needs, ever.

We come to a stop at the corner of the street and Spike sighs, "It's that one there."

I glance at him, expecting to see him pointing toward one of the homes on our side of the street, but he isn't. I frown.

"What one?" I ask, scanning across the row of houses and trying to see if I can pick it out of the lineup.

"The one with the light on in the parlor window," he adds quietly, pulling his hand out of mine and nodding toward the house just to our right and down one.

I freeze when I see it, taking my brain just a minute or two to fully catch up with what it is I'm seeing. A biggish two-story brick construction with a narrow center staircase made of stone leading to a plain black door, seeming to divide the house into to distinct sides. There are two large bay windows on either side, one top and one bottom. The soft glow of lamplight filters out through heavy curtains from the bottom window on the right hand side, and a long row of neatly trimmed hedges lining the front yard and blocking it from the street. I'm stunned, more than surprised to find that this house is almost exactly what I'd been picturing in my head.

"You like it?" Spike asks me, his own curiosity making itself known. When I glance back at him his eyes are narrowed, his brow furrowed. Probably because I've been standing here being all silent staring and freaky for the last few minutes.

"It's really pretty," I tell him honestly, then offer a slow, wry smile. Wrinkle my nose up. "The _parlor_?"

I watch the vampire's eyes widen as he realizes what he's said, then narrow again as he realizes I'm only teasing. He scolds me lightly with a low, "Hush, you." But the crease between his brows smoothes over again.

I turn away from him and move toward the neatly trimmed hedgerow, stopping just in front of the two-story brick house. Staring up at it, I let my eyes scan across the exterior of the building, noting a few of the more subtle details. This close I can tell there have been some modern adjustments made, even if they are subtle. There's a two car garage that's obviously been added on, and I'm willing to bet there hadn't been a glass door covering the hunter green painted wood beneath it when my vampire had used the front door last. Overall though, I can see it. What it must have been like back then, the place he'd come back to every day, the house he'd grown up in. The house that countless others must have lived in since then.

I can feel Spike's eyes on me, feel him standing just a few steps back and giving me space to soak in the sight in front of me.

"Well?" he asks after another endless moment, and I can feel the slight fidgeting starting up that usually comes with his nerves. Why he'd be anxious now when he hadn't really seemed to be before, I have no clue, but it's definitely there as I shift my gaze toward him again.

"Well?" I repeat, raising a brow.

My vampire sighs, turning his gaze forward to stare passed me and toward the house. There's another subtle flutter through the link between us, and I watch as his jaw tightens once and his eyes trail over the brick exterior.

Then he shoves his hands down deep into his duster's pockets and nods toward the house, asking, "Is all this doin' what you'd hoped it would?"

I stop to think about the question before I answer it, realizing that I'm not sure I know the actual answer yet. I mean, sure, seeing the house itself is great. If nothing else, it's nice to be able to put a concrete mental image where before I'd only had my imagination. But the point in coming here hadn't just been to see the bones of the building he'd grown up in, but to find out more about what the actual growing up had been like.

But if that's not something he's ready to talk about, if it had been concession enough just to come here tonight, then I won't push him.

"Yeah, I think so," I say instead, smiling, turning to cross the small distance he'd put between us before. "I can picture it, you and your family living here. This being your life." I pause and gesture toward the silver car parked in front of the garage. "I'm guessing the Volvo wasn't there…"

Spike chuckles appreciatively. "Good guess."

"I can definitely picture it," I say again, turning to face front and pressing my shoulder lightly into his. I exhale a long breath that I can see in the air in front of me, then nod. "I bet it was nice."

"You know, it was," my vampire admits softly, his voice a hushed rumble when he does. "Simple. But it wasn't the whole family, it was just me and mum."

It takes a second for that last part to sink in.

When it does, my head whips back toward him. "Huh?"

Spike turns his own head toward mine, looking like he knows how much he's just told me but also like he's trying to downplay it all at once.

"It was just the two of us that lived here," he says again, his voice casual but the look in his eyes anything but. Then he shrugs. "Never actually knew my father. He died before I was born."

I stare at him, feeling like all the air's just been sucked out of my lungs. There's a sudden twinge in my gut that has nothing at all to do with the cold outside or with any kind of anxiety, either his or mine.

I reach for him without thinking. "Spike—"

"Shh," he shushes me softly, shakes his head once. "Save your 'sorry's', sweetheart. Did just fine without him."

But there's something subtle and a little bit sad in his eyes when he says it that makes a part of me feel like he only halfway means it. And also puts his whole wig worthy new relationship with Giles into some majorly needed perspective.

Head spinning with new information, I stare up into his face, searching his eyes. He'd never met his father, had been raised by a single mother. So what had happened to her? Had he returned to this home after being sired and done what most vampires do? Done what Angel'd done?

Had he murdered her?

I clamp my lips shut tight on that particular question, shoving it down deep. I won't ask him that. Not now. Maybe not ever, I don't know. But definitely not now.

In an attempt to keep all the questions I suddenly have about his mom from rocketing to the surface and causing him to go totally mum's the word again, I ask something a little safer. And a lot more obvious. "So you never had any brothers or sisters?"

"Not back then," Spike says purposefully, and I don't need to ask to know that he's talking about Dawn.

"Was that lonely?"

"I kept busy."

"Doing what?" I ask, finding myself genuinely curious now that he seems to be willing to share at least a little with me.

My vampire sighs, like just remembering it all makes him tired. "Bloody useless social events, mostly. And I had my studies. And my mum used to like it when I'd read…" he trails off, but not before I've caught the flash in his eyes, the shifting of a knot tightening deep in his stomach. Then he sighs dramatically and says, "Truthfully luv, I don't remember it all. Everything about my life before I was turned feels dim to me now, all fuzzy 'round the edges. We're talkin' about things that happened over one hundred and twenty years ago." His eyes are bright when he reaches out then, playfully snaking an arm around my waist and tugging me against him. "You have trouble rememberin' what you ate for breakfast."

The physical gesture and the sudden shift in tone isn't even a little bit subtle. The message is a loud and clear one: we're done talking about this now.

Which is fine. For now. I've already gotten more information tonight than I'd ever expected, and there's that whole gift horse thing people are always talking about to consider here.

"Fine," I concede, letting him wrap his other arm around me, too. "But admit it, it _so_ wasn't that bad coming back here. You kinda liked seeing the house again."

Spike gives me a look.

"What I _like_ is makin' my wife happy." His eyes soften as they look down into mine, the smirk melting off his face. Then he tilts his head to the side, voice going quiet. "Are you happy?"

No matter how long I live, no matter how long _we_ live with this connection between us, I'll never get used to that. To the sheer amount of earnestness and uncertainty my vampire manages to feel at once, at any given time.

"Yeah," I tell him quietly, and again I really mean it. In spite of all the craziness from the past few months, the last two weeks, the argument in the hotel room just hours ago…I'm happy. I'm happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be on our way to figuring out what all is actually happening with our connection. Happy is as good a word as any for how I'm feeling right now.

I tilt my own head to the side and say, "Thank you."

"Just remember this the next time Peaches tries to interrupt us," Spike murmurs, his voice light even though the look on his face is completely serious.

I roll my eyes and push at his chest, freeing myself from his arms. "Deal."

I stand to the side and give Spike a little privacy as his attention turns back to his childhood home. He stands and stares at it for a few quiet minutes, the twitchy energy ebbing and flowing through the bridge between us as he does. And then out of nowhere the tenseness disappears, replaced with a low buzz of adrenaline that surprises me with the sudden force of it.

Then the vampire looks toward me. "You ready to head back, or are you up for one more stop?"

"There are multiple stops now?" I tease, masking my surprise at his sudden change in attitude as best I can. "What is this, the Magical Mystery Tour?"

But Spike just nods once, his expression growing serious when he says, "There's someplace else I wanna show you."

* * *

It takes us maybe five minutes to get to our next destination, but honestly probably less. We walk quickly through the empty streets, Spike leading the way with a practiced ease that makes me forget that he hasn't actually been back to this city in nearly forty years.

God, half a lifetime away and he still navigates here more easily than I do when I visit L.A.

We stop when we turn a sharp corner and come to a tall stone archway that stretches between two older looking buildings, both containing shops that are clearly closed down for the night. Spike smiles, and I can feel a fresh pulse of adrenaline thread through my muscles when he reaches back and grabs my hand, tugging me with him through the stone archway.

On the other side is thin, dark alleyway. Or...not an alley _way_ exactly, since there doesn't appear to be an opening on the opposite side. Just a dead end of old, weathered looking brick, and the similar looking walls from the buildings that line either side.

I follow my husband willingly, letting him pull me along behind him until we reach a spot about three quarters of the way down the alley. Here he stops, releases my hand and takes a small step back.

I stare up at him, wondering at the expectant expression on his face and the tingling pings of excitement that definitely hadn't been present while we'd scoped out his childhood home.

"I give up," I say after a few silent moments, raising an eyebrow at him. "Where are we?"

Spike smirks at me. "You can't guess?"

"I'll go ahead and assume that sight of your Senior Prom isn't right," I mutter, glancing around the dark alleyway and wondering why there doesn't seem to be any real source of light coming from either direction. I have a twisting, unsettled feeling in my stomach and I can't quite shake the completely irrational notion that I've somehow been here before. _Seen_ this place before. It's this wiggy sense of Deja Vu, a niggling in the back of my brain that's trying to tell me I've experienced something here before. Even though logically, I know couldn't have. There's absolutely zero way I could have.

And yet.

My eyes light on a particular spot on the alley wall just behind Spike's shoulder and I stare hard at it for a moment, wishing I had more light than just the light of the moon to see by. There's fog hovering all around us, eerily hanging about half a foot above the ground and doing a pretty good job of hiding our feet from view. The whole thing is undeniably creepy, and for half a second I nearly expect Jack the Ripper himself to come stalking around the corner.

But then Spike chuckles, drawing my eyes back to his. They're gleaming in the moonlight, warm and blue as he steps closer to me and says, "This is where I first met Drusilla."

A violent surge of jealousy rips through me, stronger than it had been when I'd heard her name mentioned before. It starts the familiar roiling in my stomach and rocks me to my core as my eyes widen and I take a step back.

Oh.

That's why.

I haven't been here before, but Spike has. Or more specifically his _demon_ has.

This is where it was given birth.

No, not where he'd awoken afterwards I don't think...but this is where William died. Where the human he used to be was lost and given over to what he'd eventually become.

But that's not the part I'm focusing on right now. Right now, all I can think about is Drusilla. How she'd been here, right here, and had her hands and her mouth and her _fangs_ all over my husband. My _mate_. And it doesn't even matter that it had all happened over a hundred years ago, or that he so obviously isn't with her now, or that he loves me. It doesn't even matter that he wouldn't be here to be with me now if she hadn't taken him then.

Because she'd touched what's mine, and I'm currently standing exactly where it had happened.

Something deep down inside me roars to life at the thought, a swirling, spinning heat as my eyes blaze in the darkness and I try to force down the very violent reaction I feel like having.

"Okay," I say tightly, feeling my hands curling into fists at my sides. "I'm totally loving this whole sharing thing we have going on, so don't take this the wrong way. But...why did you bring me to a place where some other woman had her lips all over your neck?"

Spike tips his head to the side, a slow smile curving his lips as he does. Enjoying my obvious jealousy just a little too much again, possibly even oblivious to how much darker this feels than the brief flash from before. I can feel the softly contented hum reaching out toward me, emanating from his demon as it recognizes mine's possessiveness.

But the smile on his mouth isn't a smug one, really. More…contented.

"That's exactly _why_ I brought you here. This is where I was turned, Buffy. Where me then became me now. The single most significant event of my existence." He reaches for me then, laying his cool palm flat against my burning cheek, sweeping his thumb in slow, soothing strokes. "Before you."

It works, what he's trying to do. The touch of his skin on mine begins to calm the flames of rage that I'd been battling back since he'd first mentioned his sire's name.

But it also begins to _build_ the flames for something else. Feeds a slow burning fire for something inside of me that's low and dark. And quiet. Strong. Something that feels like it's been lying in wait for years. I've felt it once, maybe twice before.

And all in the past week and a half.

I do what I can to ignore it, focusing all my attention on the glimmering azure of Spike's eyes. Leaning my cheek further into his hand, I ask, "Do you feel some kind of demony pull here or something?"

Spike pauses in his ministrations, frowning.

Then, "Honestly, no." His eyebrows raise like he's a little surprised by that himself. He drops his hand and glances around. "This could be any sodding alleyway in the world for as connected as I feel to it. But if we're talkin' about my life as a human, this seemed like the next logical place to come." I watch him turn his back on me and take three slow steps further into the darkness as he murmurs, "It's where I spent my final human moments, anyway."

He's standing at the center of the alley now, his gaze down, riveted to the particular spot on the wall that I'd been drawn to earlier. I stare at his profile for a moment, unmoving. Trace the perfect angle of his jaw and the planes of his cheeks, take in the pale white skin that matches the white blonde of his hair in the light of the moon. A flash, a split second, and I can briefly imagine what he must have looked like standing in the same alleyway all those years ago. Bronze colored curls loose around his forehead, round glasses perched on his handsome face. Dressed in clothing he'd look painfully out of place in now. He would have been different, I think. Held himself differently, with less put upon arrogance, less swagger.

But still some kind of achingly beautiful, if not quite the same kind he is now.

What he'd been doing out here by himself in the middle of the night, I'm not sure. Not sure I want to know. This definitely isn't the place I imagine a Victorian gentleman probably felt the most at home. Had Drusilla stalked him here, or had she just stumbled upon him? Did she choose him, or was it just an accident. Your classic wrong place at the wrong time scenario.

What had Drusilla seen when she'd looked at William and decided to take his life, make him a permanent plaything?

Stricken, not just jealous at the thought now but inexplicably _wounded_ by it, I step toward my vampire. Follow the path he's taken and step up beside him. Fasten my eyes to the same spot and, on a whim, reach up and weave my fingers into his. Press our palms tight together.

I feel his shoulder relax into mine.

"Right here?" I ask softly, pointing toward the wall absently with my free hand.

Spike nods.

"Right here. Looked a bit different then, o'course." He stares toward the wall for another long moment, his brow furrowing, a twinge of something I don't exactly recognize passing between us before he sighs. Pulls his eyes off the wall and turns his body toward mine. "But yeah, it was here."

Without thinking, I pull my hand out of his, reach for his chin. Fingers gently cupping the edge of his jaw, I tilt his head to the side and bare the curve of his statuesque throat to me. My eyes find what they're looking for in an instant.

My stomach burns.

Tongue darting out to wet my lips, I ask, "Were you scared?"

"No time to be scared," Spike tells me, his words taking on a husky quality they hadn't held before. "By the time I got a grip on what she was doin' it was already too late."

"Did it hurt?" I ask softly, letting my fingers fall away from the edge of his jaw. Inch them down toward the crescent shaped scar at his throat.

Spike inhales deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut as he tips his head further to the side to give my fingers better access. "You've been bit before, sweetheart."

I have been, I know. The Master, Angel, Dracula…Spike. Three separate times by my vampire alone. And it had hurt every time.

At first.

I shiver, all of the faded marks on my neck tingling at the reminder as my skin prickles over in goose bumps. And it's there, that low something in the pit of my stomach stirring again, the whispered words Spike had spoken in my ear during my dream echoing around in my head as it does.

 _It only hurts for a moment._

"Yeah," I agree, finding my own voice strained. Eyes glued to my fingertips at his throat. "But I'm asking you. This was your first time."

I trace Drusilla's faded mark slowly, feeling the century old scar coming to life beneath the pad of my finger. Heating up as though the blood flow's somehow been restored, it pulses, sends a spark shooting up my arm.

My breathing speeds up.

Spike shudders once.

I feel an immediate and powerfully deep pull down low in my belly. And when his eyes find mine again, they're all but black.

We move all at once, the exact same moment, a flurry of tangled limbs and swirling leather as Spike winds his arms around me to pull me into a frenzied kiss. I put my hands on his face and kiss him back, sweeping my tongue over his, eliciting a rumbling moan from the vampire before I pull away again. Drop my hands down to his shoulders and shove him hard, sending him flying back into the alley's brick wall.

His eyes flash a shade darker as he growls, watching me with a predatory stare that drives my desire for him sky high. Makes the burning in my gut flame brighter, the blood in my veins begin to boil.

I launch myself into his arms a split second later and Spike catches me, gripping me almost painfully tight and spinning us around lightning quick. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I cry out when he slams me back into the wall behind us. I think it hurts. Maybe. Honestly I hardly even notice, too busy inhaling the scent of him as his mouth takes possession of mine once more. Too busy clawing at the leather covering his shoulders and the blue cotton covering his chest until I reach it, the patch of smooth skin near his collarbone. I find the raised claim mark I'd left there months ago.

Unthinking, driven by nothing but unadulterated need, I dig my nails into the sensitive spot. Convulse in Spike's arms when blinding, white-hot pleasure rockets through my body like a live wire just as he groans into my mouth and his knees give out.

We drop to the ground in a heap, me moving to straddle his lap and reach up to cradle the back of his head before it can hit the cobblestone below.

And I'm still kissing him, I can't seem to stop. Pushing my tongue into the cool haven of his mouth to let it tangle with his, pressing myself hard against his arousal. He kisses me back just as ardently, his hands now beneath my shirt, splayed wide across my back to pull my chest tighter against his. I thread my hands up into his platinum curls and tug, tilting his head back. Adjust my position on top of him so I can kiss him even harder. Even more deeply. And Spike just lets me, never once making a move to stop me and instead submitting in a way I've never experienced from him before.

Encouraged by his obedience, the darkness I can feel swirling inside of me driven nearly mindless with it, I run my tongue over his bottom lip and pull even harder at his platinum curls. The sharp twinge on my own scalp tells me I've hurt him, but the appreciative growl that follows tells me he doesn't care. We pull at each other, dig our nails into stretches of bared skin, nip near-violently at one another's lips.

But neither of us makes a single move to undress the other. Because on seem deep, dark level we both know exactly what this is. What this isn't. This isn't lust.

Or it is.

But it's lust I've never quite felt before.

My entire body is on fire when I finally tear my mouth away from Spike's. Just long enough to suck in a deep, desperately needed pull of air, remind him breathlessly that he belongs to me. With his own chest heaving against mine with unneeded pants, I wait for him to nod.

Then I use my grip in his hair to yank his head to the side and my mouth closes over the ancient wound on his neck. I bite down.

Hard.

Spike roars beneath me, his hips back arching off the ground and his hips bucking up, straining for more friction as my blunt teeth manage to break through his alabaster skin.

At the first taste of free flowing blood, I moan. Suck harder, pull deeper.

Then my eyes snap open.

I sit up in a rush, panting. My head is spinning and my eyes are wide, glassy. I can practically feel the pupils dilating as I stare down at the wound I've re-opened on Spike's throat. Gaze glued to the bleeding mark, I reach up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Pull it away. Look down. There's a bright crimson streak down the length of my index finger.

The red is more vivid than I've ever seen it before.

Beneath me, Spike shifts up onto his elbows. "Buffy?"

My eyes dart back to his.

His go wide this time.

Dazedly, a little numb to the wind now as I blink down into his face, I frown. Ask, "What?"

Spike frowns too and doesn't answer me right away, his eyes still stuck on mine. Searching for something, he sits up a little further and reaches for me, grabbing my elbows in his hands and studying my face a moment longer.

"What is it?" I ask again, a stray pang of panic trying to fight it's way through the haze. Still feeling weirdly loose, a buzzing in my veins that's part adrenaline and part something else. Something warm and tingly, wrapping itself around my muscles like a blanket and warming me all over.

My skin feels tight, but in a good way.

Spike still doesn't answer my question. Still looking for something, whatever it was he'd seen, or thought he'd seen a moment ago. He just stares at me and I stare back, the lines of his face and the colors of his eyes and the dark of the alley all starting to come slowly back into focus as I do.

"Nothing," he says finally, slowly, drawing the word out and making it sound like he isn't so sure it's nothing. His brow furrows, then he shakes his head and his expression clears. "Yeah, nothing. You okay?"

I stare at him hard in the face for another long moment before deciding he isn't lying about the nothing, then I nod.

The buzzing is starting to wear off now, replaced with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach as my eyes find the jagged teeth marks I've left and I remember what's just happened. Though I still don't know exactly what happened, or _why_ what happened...happened.

"I should be asking you that," I say softly, reaching a slightly shaking hand out to gingerly press around the torn skin. I stare at it and shake my head, frowning deeply. Feeling all kinds of funny. "I'm sorry, I…I don't even know what happened."

"Think that's partly what we're here to figure out," Spike says softly, giving voice to the obvious and what I'd already begun thinking myself. It helps a little with the rushing waves of guilt I'm feeling, that we both seem to automatically realize that what's just happened had more than likely been some sort of side effect from the connection.

It helps a little more when he slides his hands up from my elbows to my upper arms and wraps his long fingers around me, squeezing gently as he adds, "Besides, 's not like I didn't enjoy myself, luv."

He rolls his hips suggestively beneath me for emphasis, pressing the more than obvious evidence that he isn't just trying to make me feel better against me through the two layers of denim between us. My body responds with a hard, involuntary shudder and my vampire offers me what's probably supposed to be a roguish grin.

But he still winces when my finger accidentally touches the edge of the wound, and so do I.

Human teeth. Not exactly built for the biting.

"I'm sorry," I apologize again, shifting off his lap and up onto unsteady legs. I reach down and offer him my hand, only vaguely noting that Spike keeps holding onto me even after he's back on his feet, his eyes on my face as I glance around the dark alley. "I think it's this place. Something about being here, and talking about…her." My eyes flit back to his throat. "And seeing… _that_." Then they find his face. "It made me a little wacky."

That makes him laugh.

" _Wacky_ , did it?" My vampire raises a skeptical brow, his lips curving upward on one side. "In that case, feel free to get as wacky as you'd like with me anytime."

I make a face at him and his eyes darken as he brings my hand to his lips and places a kiss on my knuckles, swiping his tongue super quickly across the bloodstain on my index finger before releasing it again.

I glance down at the now crimson free skin of my hand and frown.

Sensing me, Spike asks, "What's wrong?"

I wish I knew.

"I don't know," I say, frowning more deeply. Because I really _don't_ know. Or at least I can't pinpoint it. I'm not sure there are even actual English language words for exactly what I'm feeling right now. I look down at both my hands now, turning them back and forth, looking at my palms alternatively. "It's like…I don't know, I feel like my skin is humming." I pause to think it over. Then I look up and ask, "You don't feel it?"

He does.

I _know_ he does.

I can see it in the subtle flash of his eyes just before he shrugs his shoulders and his expression shifts to impassive.

"Mmm, feel a little somethin' yeah." Spike says, then tilts his head to the side. "But you might just be cold, pet. Not used to the London air yet I'd wager."

But that's not it, and I think he knows it. He's downplaying this way too much, going way too far out his way to downplay what's happened and the way I'm feeling now. More than likely he's just not wanting to get into it out in the middle of the city in the middle of the night, especially not when I'm still feeling so weird.

Which probably isn't the worst idea he's ever had.

So instead of pressing him on it out here I sigh and say, "Yeah, maybe."

A kind of silent understanding passes between us.

"C'mon then," he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side. "Let's get you back to the hotel and warm you up."


	7. Chapter 7

I'd tried to wait to call Giles.

Really, I totally had.

I'd even tried to sleep once we'd gotten back to the hotel, even though that had pretty much amounted to an unpleasant couple hours of me feeling way too jittery to lie still, to eventually falling into several hours of fitful sleep, to the inevitable instance of me screaming myself awake. I hadn't been able to remember the dreams clearly this time…which had been unsettling on an entirely different level than usual. Though the claim mark on the side of my throat had been burning, so if I had to guess I'd assume they were at least somewhat of the same variety. On the plus side, I guess I hadn't quite screamed loud enough this time to wake the dead.

Or, er, the _undead_ I guess.

It had been just before 8:00am when I'd finally given up on remembering anything besides the stinging on my throat and the general sense of uneasiness I'd been feeling since the incident in the alleyway and decided to crawl out of bed. Too early to call Giles, too late to go back to sleep, so instead I'd showered. But instead of making me feel better, the shower had only given me more uninterrupted time to think about what had happened in the alley the night before. And having more uninterrupted time to think had only caused me to wig harder.

I'd been too exhausted by the time we'd reached the hotel last night to do a lot of thinking about much of anything at all, even with the unpleasant restlessness in my muscles. But alone in the shower, wide-awake….all I'd had _to_ do was think about it. Which had only made me want to talk about it more.

So I'd finished the shower, and in an attempt to look and feel more like myself, I'd fixed my hair, thrown on a little makeup and some regular street clothes.

And then I'd called Giles. Still too early.

But he'd answered, so…there's that.

"So you don't have any idea what it means?" I ask him now, keeping my voice low as I pace absently in front of the bathroom door. I reach back and run a shaky hand through my hair, cast a quick glance over my shoulder toward the sleeping vampire.

Still sleeping.

 _Lucky._

On the other end of the line, Giles yawns. "Well I'm certain it was something having to do with your connection, I just can't say what exactly." I listen to him clear his throat and can imagine him sitting on his couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But it makes sense that you two being in a place of such significance for Spike would excite the link between your demons and cause you to…to _react_ as you did."

He sounds uncomfortable, which would probably be funny if I weren't so freaked.

"But I don't get it," I say softly into the receiver as I turn and face the bed, to my husband sleeping there. My eyes land on the purple bruise my teeth have left on his neck and I shiver. "Why all of a sudden would I react violently toward _him_?"

"It wasn't _you_ reacting to him, Buffy," my Watcher tells me quickly, something he's said to me once or twice already since we've been on the phone this morning. Something I'm honestly not so sure is true. "It was your _demon_. And I imagine it was it's way of showing possession, perhaps."

And that's sort of the problem, isn't it?

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and murmur, "Okay, but…I've felt my demon be all possession-y with Spike before." Lots of time before actually, if we're being honest. Normally it's just the flush of hot jealousy and a little stomach churning, but nothing else. Nothing quite so…vicious. I shake my head and add, "This was different, Giles."

He sighs. "Buffy, I appreciate the fact that what happened unnerved you but—"

"Unnerved me?" I interrupt, hissing into the phone and turning my back on the bed again, like somehow that will keep Spike from overhearing me. "Giles, this is way more than _unnerving_. This is full on wigsville. It was like I couldn't control myself, like…" I trail off, trying to think of a way to describe what it had been like. Finally, at a loss, I settle on, "It was like I wasn't even there."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line as my Watcher seems to consider what I've told him. The hotel room itself is quiet, too. And dark. All the drapes are heavy and drawn tight, blocking out what I think is the sunlight filtering in just beneath the curtains on either large window to my right.

I frown. I thought it was always supposed to be raining here?

"What does Spike think about all this?" Giles asks me, drawing my attention back to the conversation.

My eyes dart back to the vampire who's still sleeping, though now he's shifted positions on the bed. One arm up above his head, the other thrown over his eyes as though to block out the all but non-existent light.

What _does_ Spike think about all this? It's a good question. I wish I knew for sure.

I sigh, folding my free arm protectively across my waist and shrugging even though I know he can't see me. "The same as you, pretty much. Or that's his story anyway." I glance down toward my feet, shuffle them once. "I don't know, he acted like he saw something weird at first but then two seconds later he was saying it was nothing, so—"

"Is he there with you?" Giles asks, sounding a lot more awake than he had just moments ago and interrupting me mid-sentence.

I frown, blink a few times. Then say slowly, "I…yeah. Why?"

"I'd like to speak with him, please."

I furrow my brow but don't argue. Just cross the room to the bed and sit down on the edge, reaching over to lay my hand over the vampire's still chest and shaking him lightly.

He grumbles in his sleep and rolls over toward me, dropping his arm away from over his eyes but not opening them. I watch him nuzzle his face deeper into the pillow, tousling his bleached curls in the process. I can feel the gentle rumble from his chest that sounds so much like purring.

I smile a little. I can't help it.

Pressing my palm a little harder to his chest, I shake him again. "Spike."

"Mmm?" He murmurs sleepily, and I watch his lashes flutter and his eyes open. They land on me, focus in, and then he's frowning and shifting up onto his elbows immediately. "What's wrong?"

I reach out to hand him the phone. "Giles wants to talk to you."

The vampire still looks confused, feels a little concerned, but he takes the phone from me without argument. Holding it up to his left ear, he stretches his right arm up over his head and mutters, "What the bloody hell are you doin' up, you of all people should understand the time difference." A beat. "Oh." Shrewd azure eyes shift toward me. "I see." Then he sighs, tosses the sheets off his lap and throws his legs over the side of the bed. I watch as he tucks the phone between his chin and his ear and grabs up the grey sweat pants he'd left on the floor the night before. Yanks them on. "Yeah. I know." There's a pause as he listens, then chuckles, standing up to stretch further as he says, "Easier said than done, that."

That has me frowning deeper than before.

I'm about to ask him what it is exactly that's easier said than done, having a super strong feeling it has something to do with me, when there's a knock on the door to our room. Spike's eyes meet mine, and he shrugs just as he answers another one of Giles's questions with a non-committal "sure", then waves me off to answer the door. I narrow my eyes at him but turn around anyway, taking just a second to peek into the peephole before throwing the door open.

I'm greeted by a very bight eyed, _very_ chipper looking brunette.

Cordelia's standing in the hallway, dressed in an outfit that somehow looks both effortless and painstakingly put together at the same time, an impossibly wide smile and eyes that don't show even an ounce of jet lag.

I just stare at her for a second.

"Hey," she says happily. "Are you…" The smile falls a little as her eyes trail down from my face, and then she frowns. "Definitely not ready to go."

"Go?" I ask, eyes widening just a little.

"Shopping?" She asks back, raising two perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

It takes me longer than it should to realize what she's talking about, but once I do, I could kick myself. Shopping. Of course. Like we'd planned to do all day yesterday on the plane. In all the excitement from the night before I hadn't had a chance to let her know that the plans had changed. Sure, initially I'd figured the reason for that would be the whole keeping Spike and Angel from killing each other thing, but now it's less about that and a lot more about feeling the need to figure out what's happening with me. Finding out what all the grr had been about last night.

I don't think being away from Spike for the whole day is the best way to do that.

"Oh, God, Cordelia," I say, letting my shoulder slump into the side of the door. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot."

"I noticed," the brunette says.

"I really am sorry," I tell her, almost surprised by how much I mean it. Cordelia and I were never really _friends_ friends, but we were sort of scratching at the surface of it before she'd left for L.A. And yesterday on the plane had been fun, apart from the swirling in my stomach. It would've been kinda nice to spend some more quality time with her before things get too crazy. But now's not exactly the time to be bonding. So I sigh, "I didn't mean to blank, I just…there's a lot going on right now. I don't know if the shopping spree thing is such a good idea—"

But Cordelia's shaking her head and holding her hands up before I can finish, saying, "I'm gonna stop you right there." She drops her hands, widens her eyes. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been shopping? With another real life _girl_?" A beat passes. Then, "Please don't make me take Wesley."

I don't think it's meant to be funny, but it makes me laugh anyway. Which makes the brunette smile.

Which makes me feel majorly guilty.

"I'm not above begging," she adds, reaching up and interlocking her fingers in front of her chest for emphasis.

Oh, boy.

I slump further against the open door and sigh, shaking my head. "I don't know if it's such a great idea, being gone all day. It's just…" I let the words trail off, glancing over my shoulder and back into the room toward Spike, who's still speaking to Giles in a low voice. "Things got a little crazy last night–"

"Oh, Buffy, please." The hands are back up in front of her again, and when I look back she's making a face at me. " _Really_ don't need the details."

"Okay, seriously?" I demand, eyes wide as I push myself off the door and standing up straight. "Why does everyone always jump to _that_?"

And barely a second later I feel the edge of the door tugged out of my grip and swung fully open, revealing a very shirtless Spike as he slides into the empty space beside me. He slips the phone gracefully into the back pocket of my jeans with one hand and braces the other on the flat edge of the doorframe, a smug expression on his face. Like he knows exactly how pretty he is.

Cordelia raises a knowing brow at me.

And I sigh, giving up.

"Cordelia," Spike says, managing to make it sound completely casual even as he's standing there all half naked and annoyingly perfect. "Good morning."

She smiles wryly up at him, saying, "Looks like it was for one of us."

His response is an appreciative chuckle, and I can feel his eyes on me as he winds his arm around my waist and settles his hand over my hip. He's in a really good mood. Like…a _weirdly_ good mood. I can feel it, soft and warm as it feathers itself around me. I frown and glance up toward his face, but he's already turned his eyes back to Cordelia.

"What brings you 'round here bright and early?" Spike asks her.

"I came by to pick up Buffy for our pre-scheduled shopping trip," she says, turning her attention back on me.

"Yeah," I agree with a nod, turning my gaze to my vampire again. "But I was just trying to explain to Cordelia that I don't think said shopping trip is gonna happen."

"Why not?" Spike asks, frowning. "Sounds like a brilliant idea to me."

Wait, what?

I frown back. "It does?"

I feel like I'm missing something.

Spike can tell. "Sure, luv. Could use a little female companionship I'd wager." He pulls his arm away from my waist and tilts his head. Reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and adding, "I could do with a little alone time myself, catch a little more shut-eye."

He's not commanding me, not exactly, but the look in his eyes now is obvious. To me anyway, even if it isn't to the brunette standing in front of us. He really does want me to go today.

I just can't tell why.

"Great, it's settled," Cordelia says, beaming at me, jumping on the opening that Spike's given her before I have a chance to argue with either of them. "I'll just wait in the lobby while you get dressed."

"I am dressed," I tell her flatly, raising a brow.

"Oh," she says, then quickly smiles again, a little awkwardly this time. "Okay, well great. Let's go."

I claim to need to grab a few things, promising to meet Cordelia in the lobby in ten minutes. I wait for her to turn and head toward the bank of elevators about halfway down the hall, wait for the ding as the elevator doors open and sliding sound as they shut again.

Then I shut the door and whirl on Spike, demanding, "Okay, what was that about?"

He doesn't look or sound surprised. "What d'you mean?"

"I _mean_ , that I don't think me leaving for the entire day is a great idea right now," I tell him, voice low as I step further into the room and approach him. "After last night—"

"After last night a day out in the sun sounds like exactly what you need," Spike says, the words forceful and commanding even though his voice is soft. He isn't angry. I can tell because I can still feel the light, feathery feeling on my skin. He's just…certain.

I stand still for a moment and stare at him. His eyes hold mine unwaveringly, and I start to put two and two together.

Taking another couple steps toward him, I ask, "What did Giles say to you?"

Spike sighs, shaking his head. "He didn't say anythin' to me, luv. I just think you should go is all. Have a birds' day out, buy yourself somethin' nice. Hell, go see some of those ruddy tourist traps that are only open during the day." He stops in front of me and reaches up, wrapping the end of a golden curl around his index finger. Tugs on it gently. "Do somethin' normal for a change."

"I do normal things," I murmur, the words falling flat and unconvincing even to my own ears.

"Not enough," the vampire counters sternly, unraveling my hair from his finger and scanning my face seriously. "Besides, who knows when we'll be back this way again with enough time for you to have a look around. I want you to see the city, not just the bits I can show you."

And the way the stupid vampire is looking at me now, whether he's using the connection between us or not…God. It's not _fair_.

Giving in, I sigh. Meet his eyes again and ask, "What are you gonna do while I'm gone?"

Spike pretends to think it over for a minute before shrugging, turning his back on my to open up the drawer of his nightstand.

"Was thinkin' I'd drop in on Angel," he says casually, pulling an envelope out of the drawer and turning toward me again. Eyes bright, he grins. "See about havin' that little heart to heart you were so keen on us gettin' to yesterday."

Picking up my purse from off the wooden dresser I give him a look, eyebrows raised. "You're not funny."

But he's chuckling and so am I.

"Don't worry pet," the vampire breezes, pulling something out of the envelope and stepping toward me again. "I'll stay far, far away from the brooding wonder. Probably will just sleep. Maybe watch a little telly." He slips the black credit card into my purse, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my lips as he does. "I'll be fine."

And I really hope he will be.

"Be good," I tell him in a voice as mockingly stern as I can.

"You too," he tells me, eyes twinkling playfully.

And I cover for the uncertainly I'm still feeling about leaving for the day by leaning up to kiss him one more time.

* * *

"I'll never get used to the way people look at me when I ask for a pint of pig's blood," Cordelia mutters as we exit the small butcher shop we'd found and start back down the sidewalk toward the hotel.

"I know," I agree on a laugh, tucking the brown paper bag more securely under my left arm to keep it upright and gripping my other shopping bags a little tighter as I do. "If they really think it's _that_ weird they shouldn't bother selling it by the pint in the first place."

The brunette beside me reaches over and takes one of my bags to free up my right hand, saying, "Thank you, _exactly_ my point."

I smile gratefully at her and readjust again, distributing the rest of the day's evidence more evenly this time.

We'd been on the lookout for a butcher shop all afternoon, knowing we'd eventually have to stop and pick up some food for Angel and Spike, or "the boys" as Cordelia had begun referring to them as throughout the day. Funny for all sorts of reasons, the least of which being that while hardly being boys themselves, the vampires would have a total conniption if they heard us calling them that. Which is worth it in and of itself. We'd found one roughly four blocks from the hotel, which had been perfect for us.

The day had been a fun one. Way more fun than the original plan of Council dealing obviously, but also just fun in and of it's own right. We'd done the shopping thing, stopped for lunch, strolled around some of the more obvious tourist traps just as Spike had asked me to do. And yeah okay, I admit, it had been a lot fun. I'd even managed to semi-forget about the incident in the alley last night for a little while, been able to put the whole demon thing aside for the majority of the afternoon.

That was until we'd entered the butcher shop five minutes ago and I'd been assaulted with the scent of fresh animal blood. I'd had an instant and visceral reaction to the smell, my stomach immediately clenching, hit with a rolling wave of nausea.

Not because it had smelled bad to me, but because it had smelled good.

After setting aside the initial horror of recognizing that particularly wiggy fact, and after subsequently rationalizing that the blood smelling not disgusting to me had probably been another aspect of the connection that's just gotten stronger with time, I'd managed to get it together and ignore it.

I've been ignoring it since.

I'm ignoring it now.

Now that we're only about three blocks away from the hotel and the sun is just dipping below the tallest buildings to our left, casting the busy street and sidewalk in long shadows. Now that I'm trying to figure out whether or not this is something I want to, or need to, tell Spike about. If this is anything at all. I don't think it is.

But what if I'm wrong?

That's all I'm focused on when Cordelia suddenly slows her walk, coming to a stop and forcing me to stop too.

"You know what," she says, and she smiles at me but wrinkles her nose up like she's almost surprised by what she's about to say. "This was fun, Buffy. Thanks."

And I just kind of have to laugh at the craziness of the situation I've found myself in. Pushing the pig's blood issue way, way to the side, deciding to not worry about it unless I absolutely have to, I smile back and relax into the easy companionship we'd built during the day.

"Hey, don't thank me," I tease her, waving the black card in her direction before tucking it safely back inside my purse. "Thank Giles."

So no, a new dress that I'll probably never have an occasion to realistically wear and a pair of slightly too expensive boots for Cordelia aren't exactly what my Watcher would probably consider "emergencies", but I have a feeling he'd had something to do with insisting I go out on this little excursion to begin with so really, he has no one to blame but himself.

Or at least that's what I'll tell him.

"God, Giles," the other girl half-laughs, tossing her head back as we begin walking again. She looks toward me. "How _is_ Giles?"

"He's good," I say, smiling and glancing down at the ground as we walk. "And Xander, and Willow…the whole gang is good. Happy." I look back up at her again and shrug. "Which, ya know, is nice for a change." I pause, biting down on the corner of my lip and trying to decide what to say next, unsure if bringing up Xander had been the best idea or not. I clear my throat. "Um, you seem happy too. Is L.A. everything you wanted it to be?"

"Oh, totally," she breezes. "Just with a few more beheadings and a lot less shoe shopping." She pauses, then nods thoughtfully. "But it's nice to be doing something, you know? Making some kind of difference."

If I'd been shocked at how much fun I'd actually had being out with the other girl all day today, then I'm completely caught off guard now. Sure, I'd figured that Cordelia might have changed at least a little bit since the last time I'd seen her. Two years in a city like L.A., doing the work that Angel Investigations does, it would have to have some kind of influence.

I just don't think I'd banked on just how _much_ of an influence.

"Yeah," I murmur, biting my lip. "I know. So, your visions…do they—"

Cordelia eyes me sardonically as she cuts me off with, "Hurt like a bitch? Oh, yeah. But they're helpful. I mean, they help Angel, so I can't complain too much."

The way she says my ex's name has me arching an eyebrow.

"So," I begin slowly, cautiously. Dipping my toe in the potentially awkward water. "Are you and Angel…"

"Whoa, no," she cuts me off in a flash, shaking her head vigorously as she laughs. "No, no." A beat. "No."

Oh.

I fight the urge to frown, try to chuckle instead. "Okay, so that's a no."

But there's just a trace of disappointment in my voice, and I only realize after I've asked the question and gotten my answer that I'd kind of been hoping for a different one. I don't know why. For the longest time the thought of anyone, _anyone_ , else with Angel made me a total crazy person. And the thought of him with Cordelia, specifically…that _had_ turned me into an actual crazy person all those years ago. But she's so different now, and I can see it. How well they could fit together if they wanted to. Now I'd kind of just like to know that Angel's found someone that makes him happy.

Not _too_ happy, because…bad. But happy.

I guess it's no mystery why. I am. Why shouldn't he be, too?

Beside me, Cordelia slows her walk once more.

"Don't get me wrong. Angel…" she trails off, then glances toward me again. "I love the guy, but…no. That's one big pile of heartache I'm not looking to step into."

But there's just a little something in her eyes that makes me think that isn't exactly true.

"I get that," I say, because there isn't much else _to_ say.

And because I do.

It grows quiet between us for a moment.

"How about you and Spike," the brunette says, cutting through the slightly awkward silence as we pick our pace up again. She grins sideways at me. "All smitten and in love. Which is just _so_ weird, by the way."

I laugh and nod, glad for the conversational direction change. "You get used to it. But...yeah," I admit. "Kinda weird."

Cordelia fixes me with a look that says my vague "kinda weird" doesn't even begin to cover it.

"It would be completely disturbing if it wasn't so sweet. Freakishly sweet. Actually, it's kind of disturbing _because_ of the sweetness." Off the deadpan expression I shoot her, she tosses her head back and laughs. "Oh what _,_ it's _Spike_. Blood thirsty killer, tortured people with railroad spikes, all that jazz. And now he's basically a puppy dog with fangs." She shakes her head. "It's just a little surprising."

Well, that much at least is one hundred percent true.

"Spike is definitely full of surprises," I muse, then frown, wrinkle my nose up. "I don't think I'd call him a puppy dog, though."

If anything, my vampire is like a tamed jungle cat. Or a lion. You know, the kind you see people training to give hugs and stuff like that? They're fierce and loyal, and they might seem all fluffy and cuddly. And for the most part they totally are.

But they could turn and rip you to shreds any second they wanted to.

"Still," she counters, oblivious to the visual image I have running through my head and sighing almost wistfully. "He's so… _different_ with you."

"Yeah, he is," I say softly, feeling the corners of my lips tugging up. _Different_. If there was ever a perfect, wonderful, all encompassing word for what Spike is that would be it. I meet Cordelia's eyes again and say, "He's so different from what I thought he was."

"That's what I've realized about Angel," the brunette agrees with a slow nod. Then, "Do you think those two idiots even realize how much they have in common?"

It's my turn to throw my head back and laugh, glad someone other than me had been the first to point it out. "They'd probably kill you for even suggesting it."

"Men," she grumbles, rolling her eyes up to the darkening sky as we round the corner and spot the lit up awning of the hotel. "Even the undead ones have too much testosterone."

I'm not sure that truer words have ever been spoken.

"Still, so far so good, right?" she asks, obviously referencing the lack of dustage that occurred on the plane yesterday.

I nod.

"One day down, thirteen more to go. Who knows," I say, glancing her way as we slow our speed and approach the wide cement steps that lead up toward the open glass doors and into the lobby. "We just might all make it back home in one piece."

And I look up, just enough time to register the flaring rage in my stomach and the tingling in my fingertips as I see Spike and Angel come into view. Standing on the flat cement landing at the top of the stairs leading into the lobby, glaring at each other. They haven't spotted us yet, we're not close enough, but it's very obvious that they're arguing about something and it's _very_ obvious that something is about to go very wrong.

And just as I've had that thought, Spike winds his arm back and throws a hard left hook. It catches Angel below the jaw and sends him stumbling backward, falling haphazardly down the steps and ending sprawled out on the sidewalk.

My vampire growls, maybe not loud enough for anyone else to hear it but I sure do, watching numbly with Cordelia frozen beside me as he begins to walk down the steps toward the brunette on the ground.

Suddenly on high alert, I snap back into the moment and rush toward the corner of the sidewalk nearest them. Set my bags, purse and their blood down on the sidewalk and launch myself forward, situating my body directly between the two snarling vampires.

Placing a bracing palm to Spike's chest, I find his eyes and demand, "What the hell is going on here?"

He points a hard finger over my shoulder toward Angel. "This wanker broke that body swapping bitch out of prison, that's what's goin' on," he growls, the blue of his eyes flecked and swirling with gold as he fights to keep a hold on his demon.

It takes me all of a split second to realize who he's talking about, what he's talking about and what exactly that means.

 _Faith._

Eyes blazing, I drop my palm from Spike's chest and whirl on Angel. " _What_?"

But the brunette vampire isn't looking at me. He isn't looking at anyone, except to glare daggers at my husband from over my shoulder.

"I didn't break her out of anything, Bleach Boy," he snarls, leaping back to his feet and making a show of straightening his coat. "She broke herself out. I just…gave her a job to do."

Head spinning, already furious, I feel like I've just flipped on the TV and started an episode of a familiar show halfway through.

"What job?" I demand from the brunette, then whip my narrowed gaze back to the bleached blonde. "And how did you know about this?"

My vampire is practically vibrating with rage beneath my hand as he nods his head once toward Angel, then over toward Wesley and says, "Overheard these two tossers chattin' about it when I came down to the lobby to meet you."

"I'm afraid there may have been a slight misunderstanding," Wesley chimes in, now standing beside Cordelia on the sidewalk next to our bags.

I hadn't even noticed him come down the steps.

"Yeah?" Spike raises both eyebrows and turns to angle his body toward the ex-Watcher, planting both hands on his hips. "So I somehow _misunderstood_ the fact that you and your little gang helped bust a psychotic bint that's gone after my wife _more than once_ out of prison?"

Wesley frowns. "Well...no."

"Okay," I say, my voice deadly and low as I glance back and forth between the three of them. "Someone better start explaining. _Now_."

"Like I was _trying_ to tell Captain Peroxide here," Angel offers pointedly, glaring once in my husband's direction before looking back at me. "If you'd just call Giles I'm sure he'd be willing to explain everything."

My eyes go wide.

"Giles knows about this?" I ask, seething anger momentarily replaced by shock. "How does _Giles_ know?"

Nobody seems to be in a hurry to answer that particular question. I watch Angel dart a knowing gaze toward the ex-Watcher. Watch Wesley nod once in response. Then he finally turns back toward me, his voice and expression grave as he crosses his arms over his chest and tells me, "Faith is in Sunnydale."

The ground beneath my feet tilts at an odd angle, and I'm seeing red.

"Faith is in Sunnydale," I echo Wesley's words slowly, feeling my jaw tighten and a rush of pure fury rocket down my back. I turn cold, narrowed eyes on Angel. "You mean the Faith that tried to kill me, steal my life and go after everyone every single person I care about... _that_ Faith is in Sunnydale?"

The larger vampire swallows and takes a step closer to me. "Yes, but—"

I punch him.

Slam my fist full force into his nose hard enough to make my knuckles ache, hard enough to send him tumbling back down to the cement. I watch him push himself back onto his feet and shake his head out, straighten his coat again.

"Just listen—" he begins once more, but I'm already moving to cut him off.

"She went after my friends, Angel," I snarl at the vampire, heedless at this point of whether or not there other people around, people nearby who might be watching. "She went after my _family_. And she's just out, wandering around my town free as a bird?" My fingers are tingling, itching as I curl them into fists at my sides.

It's the only thing I can do to keep from hitting him again.

"She's hardly wandering aimlessly, Buffy," Wesley interjects, drawing my eyes back toward him. He clears his throat and steps forward, body language cautious. "Gunn is watching her. Keeping her in line."

I turn and narrow my eyes. _That's_ supposed to make me feel better?

"Oh, good," I say, gesturing absently with my hand. "Because Gunn has all the strength of your average human."

Unruffled, the ex-Watcher tells me, "He also has weapons."

Coolly, I raise a skeptical brow. "And he'll be ready to use them?"

To my left, the brunette vampire moves out of the easy reach of my fist, sliding into place beside Wesley and effectively placing Cordelia between us.

Whether he's done it on purpose or not I can't tell, but it rubs me the _very_ wrong way.

We've all shifted now, almost unconsciously so we're no longer blocking the entrance into the hotel but rather standing to the side of the cement steps, shielded in a dark shadow cast over us by the awning. Forming a sort of horseshoe shape, away from the harsh brightness of the spotlights.

Wesley seems to consider my question a moment before he feels prepared to answer. But when he does, his voice is eerily calm. Level.

"If he has to, yes." His eyes are clear and steady behind his glasses, unwavering as they gaze into mine. "Those were the instructions."

My brow furrows. _Instructions?_

"Oh, I see," Spike murmurs, chuckling dryly as he moves to fill in the small space between us. "That's what that little pow wow was all about yesterday mornin', then." He shifts narrowed eyes toward Angel. "A meeting of the minds to suss out how to keep the psycho Slayer in line while big daddy's away?"

"We have everything under control," the darker vampire snaps.

"Mmm," the bleached blonde rumbles, lifting both brows in challenge. "Seems like."

"I can't believe you did this," I tell Angel, watching his dark eyes turn toward me. Then I pause, reconsider and add, "Actually, I can. I can _totally_ believe you did this." God, this whole _let me go behind your back and do something you'll hate because only I really know what's best for you_ crap has his name written all over it. I shake my head, fold my arms up tight over my chest. "Who all knew about this genius plan of yours, Angel? You, Wesley, Gunn? _Giles_ , apparently?"

It's quiet in the small half circle as I wait for him to answer. No one moves.

"That's it," he finally promises, actually looking a little bit sheepish for a change.

"Hey," Cordelia complains, reaching over to smack him in the chest with one of her shopping bags. "When were you gonna tell me?"

"More importantly, when were you going to tell _me_?" I demand, then narrow my eyes and shift back on my heels. "Or were you just banking on me never finding out."

He doesn't answer that question. Instead, he simply lowers his voice and says, "I was just trying to help."

I gape at him, finger starting to itch and tingle all over again. "By putting little miss hack and slash back in proximity of my family?"

"You'd rather have had them go two weeks unprotected?" Angel counters.

I step toward him. "They wouldn't have been _unprotected_ , they have—"

"Giles?" he finishes for me, widening his eyes knowingly.

I take a step back.

"A-and Willow," I add, suddenly not feeling as confident as I had moments ago. I glance up at Spike, then back forward again. "I had her put a protection spell around the house before we left."

"Alright, so that takes care of your family. But what about the rest of the town?" Angel presses, raising his brows. "The world? I just thought you'd feel better if you knew the Hellmouth was being watched by another Slayer, that's all."

Everything goes quiet between the five of us again as the truth of that statement settles over us like dust.

That…kind of makes sense.

Still, you'd have thought I could have been given a chance to weigh in here. Brought into the loop. My family, my friends, my Hellmouth. Damnit. I should have at least been considered.

"Then why couldn't you have just _told_ me that?" I ask, uncrossing my arms so I can gesture out wide. "Why make with the big secrecy?"

And why hadn't Giles bothered to mention it to either Spike _or_ me today?

But Angel's already responding. His expression impassive, he asks pointedly, "Would you have listened?"

Oh.

Well.

Okay, probably not.

Stuck, but refusing to admit it, I mutter, "That's not the point."

"It kind of is," my ex disagrees. "Look, now you don't have to worry about anything that would or could go wrong back home. You can focus on why we're here, on getting the answers you want. Knowing that your family is safe—"

Heat floods my chest all over again.

"Safe?" I repeat, interrupting him on a low growl. "How _safe_ do you think they can possibly be with Faith around?"

"Safer than without her," the vampire insists steadily.

I'm about to open my mouth to argue further, or just to plain old yell, but Spike's wrapping his hand around mine and tugging me backward before I can.

He pulls me into the corner of the outer edge of the steps, and I let him. Gaze on mine, then a quick shift over toward the three pairs of eyes still on us, he keeps a hold of my hand and sighs. "As much as I bloody well hate to admit this, pet…Peaches might have a point."

I blink several times sure that I've heard him wrong. Then, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Hear me out," Spike murmurs, his voice and the pressure of his hand in mine soothing. "Angel might be an arrogant prick and a prize idiot but I have a hard time believin' he'd ever willingly put your mum and the bit in danger."

"What's with the changing tune all of a sudden?" I ask, annoyed but no longer seeing red. Whether that's due to Spike's hand on mine or because I'm just slowly starting to come to the same realization as everyone else, I don't know. Don't really care.

It's just nice to have the heat leaving my chest.

"You know me, sweetheart. Act first, reason later. Takes me a bit to catch on but I usually do." He smiles briefly, turns his eyes back toward Angel and again slowly back to mine. I watch as he purses his lips and hollows his cheeks, clearly thinking over something. Then murmurs, "If this is somethin' Rupert felt comfortable with, maybe we should take half a mo to reevaluate."

Of _course_.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Giles has been known to make some bad decisions, you know," I tell him purposefully, watching the corner of his mouth twitch up. I sigh. "Look, I get that Angel thinks Faith's all rehabilitated and repenty or whatever, but I haven't seen it. People don't just change like that, Spike. Not overnight."

"Don't they?" the vampire counters steadily.

And I pause.

On the one hand he does have a point. It in reality, it took me very little convincing at all to accept that Spike had changed. That being with me, falling in love with me, had played some kind of part in that. Even lacking the soul that Faith obviously has, he'd managed. He has to fight the monster inside of him every day to do it, but he does. I've given him ultimate benefit of the doubt because I love him.

Is it fair that I've set a double standard for someone like Faith?

God, you know, things would be _so_ much easier if the Council had been right about vampires.

Or if Spike wasn't such an enigma.

I sigh and shake my head, exhaling through my nose. "It's different, okay? She just…no one has ever made me feel the way that Faith did."

 _Ever_.

I don't feel like it's totally irrational of me not to want to open my life back up to someone who's tried to take it away so many times before.

And as usual, my husband manages to find and say the one thing that manages to take all the heat out of my fire, cooling the flames as he rubs cool circles into the back of my hand.

"Why don't we give the old man a ring and see what's what, get the full story," he suggests, tilting his head to the side, azure eyes bright even in the extra darkness of shadow. "Know you want to be here, luv. Also know it's not easy for you to leave that lot behind. You honestly tellin' me you won't rest a touch easier knowing there's someone as strong as you lookin' out for 'em?"

"I hate it when you make good points," I grumble.

Spike chuckles, and it turns into a sigh as he looks up, gaze focused on something somewhere over my head. "Yeah, well," he murmurs, dropping his eyes to mine again. "I hate it when I agree with Angel so I guess we're even."

I sigh, a shuddering deep breath exhaled through pursed lips as I stare up at him. Then nod.

"Buffy," Wesley calls my name, causing me to turn my head in his direction again. He steps closer to us and sighs. "I know you and Faith have a bit of a rocky past. As do I," he reminds me, his voice coaxing and still that same eerie calm it had been before. "But I assure you…every precaution has been taken. Gunn wouldn't allow anything to happen to your family."

"I promise," Angel adds quietly, the expression on his face surprisingly earnest.

And I know exactly what the expression on _my_ face tells him when I meet his eyes again. Careful to drop my voice to as menacing a low as I can manage and fixing his eyes with mine, I breathe, "If anything happens to them, to _any_ of them, it's on you."

Angel just nods once.

I turn my back on him, pick up my bags from off the sidewalk and head inside.

* * *

A couple hours later and Spike and I are seated at a table near the back of the pub we'd stopped in the night before, and Cordelia and Wesley are sitting across from us.

And I'm just a little surprised by how much fun the four of us are having, considering the way we'd left things on the sidewalk. When we'd gotten back to our room Spike had gone straight for the brown paper bag, pulling out one of the two pint's I'd bought for him earlier and opening it up. I hadn't mentioned anything to him about the creepy scratch and sniff moment at the butcher shop, but when he'd decided to take his blood out onto the balcony for a self-prescribed blood and smoke break I hadn't exactly been upset about it.

Instead, I'd pushed the balcony door shut and called Giles again.

After a solid ten minutes of me yelling at my Watcher for not bothering to tell me he'd known about the whole Faith thing to begin with, and another ten minutes of allowing him to explain his reasoning for not bothering to tell me, he'd actually put me on the phone with the psycho Slayer herself.

Which…actually hadn't been all bad, once the initial wigfest had ended.

Not to mention I'd felt loads better after getting to threaten her myself.

I mean, still super, _super_ angry. But better in terms of the no imminent danger befalling my friends and family.

It hadn't been long after that that my rumbling stomach had gotten the better of me and I'd asked Spike if we could go and get some of the "traditional" food he'd been filling my head about the night before. Upon wandering into the cozy pub beside the hotel it had taken us only a few seconds to get waved down by Cordelia, and after giving me a plaintive shrug of his shoulders, my vampire had agreed to a little extra company over dinner.

Now, one perfectly battered fish filet, two beers and too many of those incredible French fries…or as Spike and Wesley have been constantly correcting me… _chips_ in, and I can say that we're all honestly enjoying ourselves.

"You want another, pet?" Spike asks, picking up my empty mug and shaking it playfully at me. He's getting way too big of a kick out of me being just slightly buzzed, but it's not my fault I don't drink. Ever. The last time I had any kind of foray into the wonderful world of beer was last year when I'd gone Neander-Buffy. I haven't exactly been in a hurry to repeat that little adventure.

Granted, the beer here is way better than the crap at the bar at UC Sunnydale.

"Yeah," I tell him honestly, because I do want another one. Then I sigh. "But I probably shouldn't. Wait, what time's our flight tomorrow?"

"6:30," Spike purrs.

My brow furrows. "PM?"

He chuckles, "Mmhm."

I love the way his chuckles get all rumbly in his chest, spreading more pleasant, buzzing warmth across my skin. I smile and say, "One more." I watch my vampire nod, then set the empty mug back down and get up from his chair. "Wait," I say quickly, reaching for his arm and tugging him back down. "Wait, wait."

Spike slumps back into the chair, eyeing me through his lashes as he exhales, "Yes?"

"You're cute," I tell him, smiling. Relaxed.

"You're snockered," he tells me, but he's smiling too.

I'm not. Not really.

But I lean into him anyway, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and giggling, "But I feel so much better now."

"Maybe you don't need another then," Spike murmurs, smiling back against my lips before pulling away.

"Maybe I don't," I agree, tilting my head to the side. "But I want one. We're on vacation?"

Okay, so that might be a little bit of a stretch, but it seems to work so I don't really care.

"Right," he says, tossing a sardonic glance across the table at our audience and getting back up to his feet. He looks down at me and winks, saying, "Sit tight, I'll be right back."

I watch him head back toward the bar, biting down on my smiling bottom of my lip and liking the way the black denim clings to powerful muscles of his thighs.

"See," Cordelia murmurs, bringing my attention back in her direction to see that she's speaking to Wesley. "It's _so_ freaky, right?"

One eyebrow raised high, the ex-Watcher says simply, "I really have to agree."

"You're just jealous," I tell him, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out too and popping one of my remaining fries in my mouth.

Wesley actually seems to think about that for a minute before he frowns and says, "Oddly, yes."

There's another half-second pause as Cordelia and I lock eyes from across the table, and then we both burst out laughing.

"You know who else is jealous?" I ask once the giggle fit has died down, picking up another fry and using it to point across the table for emphasis. "Angel. With his stupid hair and his always knowing what's best for everybody else."

Wesley sighs and sets his glass down on the table. "He really was just trying to help."

"Well, great," I grumble, chewing loudly on the end of the pointer fry. "Maybe next time he should try something that might actually help instead of make everything worse."

Cordelia frowns, propping her elbow up on the table and dropping her head into her hand. "I thought you felt better?"

It hadn't taken me long into my first beer of the night before I'd been telling them all the details about what I'd said to Giles, and what he'd said to me. I'd admitted to feeling better, but only after making them both swear they wouldn't tell Angel that.

Not yet, at least.

"I do," I mutter now, knowing she's caught me. "I think I'm more mad he didn't tell me than anything else."

Cordelia laughs lightly, sitting up straight again and leaning back in her chair to say, "Probably just trying to avoid getting his ass kicked like it did back there."

"That why the great poof decided not to grace us with his presence tonight then?" Spike muses, setting a fresh glass down in front of me and another whiskey in front of himself, sliding effortlessly down into his seat and draping an automatic and careless arm over my shoulders.

Cordelia flashes him a wry smile. "I think he was more worried he'd end the night in a dust buster if he did."

"Good call," Spike agrees, raising his fresh glass to her as he smirks and takes a slow sip.

"This is way more fun anyway," I say, swallowing the large sip of beer I've just taken and setting my mug down excitedly. "Ooo, it's like a double date. Didn't you two have a thing…or something?" I frown. "At some point?"

Both Cordelia's and Wesley's eyes go wide.

"Oh," my vampire purrs, curling his tongue up behind his teeth as he gazes across the table. "Now that _is_ interesting."

"And on that incomparably uncomfortable note," Wesley murmurs, planting his palms on the table and pushing himself up to his feet. "I think I'll say goodnight. Cordelia, do you want me to walk you back to the hotel?"

She thinks about it for a minute before shrugging and saying, "Eh, why not? Let these two have their date night."

We say our goodnights and watch the two of them walk away. Spike waits just until they've disappeared through the pub's door before clearing his throat, angling his body more closely toward mine. "Date night?" he asks blithely, arching a brow.

"Yeah," I say, shrugging. "It's a thing." He flutters long lashes at me and I sigh, adding, "A _normal_ thing."

Spike tips the edge of his whiskey glass against the empty half of my beer, making a bright clinking sound as he asks, "This is normal for you then, is it?"

He's getting at some kind of point I know, but I don't really want to get into it right now.  
So I finish swallowing the sip I've just taken and wipe the corner of my mouth, reminding him, "Hey, you offered."

But the vampire had looked more than a little surprised when I'd taken him up on it.

"Buffy," he murmurs, glittering eyes fixed on mine, the warm glow from his arm around my shoulders melding into the buzzing glow from the alcohol. "What's this about?"

The better question might be what _isn't_ this about, but he doesn't actually need me to tell him that. Even if I haven't told him I'm still bothered about what happened last night, or that I'm a little wigged by the sweet, coppery trace of blood I can still taste on his lips, he should know without needing to read my mind that enough bizarre has happened just in the last twenty-four hours to warrant a little extra relaxation.

"This isn't _about_ anything," I tell him as earnestly as I can, my head nice and light. "I'm just trying to relax and this is how people my age do that. You were the one who told me this morning I should do more normal things." I lean into his shoulder and pick up my mug again, eyeing the foam on the top as I swirl the amber colored liquid around. My eyes shift sideways. "Besides, this is probably the last night we'll have in Europe where we'll be able to relax like this, so sue me for trying to enjoy it."

For whatever reason this seems to soften him, his arm tightening a little around me as his eyes continue to search mine. Then he nods, sniffs once and says brightly, "Right. Well then, date night is young and so are you." He grins at me when I smack his arm, tilting his head seductively to the side. "Anythin' in particular you fancy doin'?"

* * *

"Wow," I murmur, looking out from our little glass dome at my bird's eye view of London.

Behind me, Spike sets his chin down on my shoulder. "Took the word right out of my mouth, Slayer." He exhales through his nose, the air stirring my hair as he says, "Can honestly say I've never seen the city look quite like this."

When I'd told Spike I wanted to see the London Eye he'd teased me the whole way here, laughing at how much of a "bloody tourist" I am.

He isn't laughing now.

My lips twitch up into a small smile and I lean my back into his chest, lay my left hand over his. Running my palm over the cool metal of his wedding band, enjoying the bizarre normalcy of the moment, I let myself fully embrace being a tourist for the night. Let my eyes scan over the view in front of us; the bright glow of the city lights, the reflection they make on the river's surface.

"It's really beautiful," I say after a minute, voice soft.

"It certainly is," Spike agrees, his voice equally soft.

I turn to glance over my shoulder to find the vampire staring at me instead of at the view and laugh. Slapping him in the chest with the back of my hand, I tell him, "God, you're so lame."

"Can't help it, can I?" he teases, putting on a big show of flinching away from my harmless smack as he laughs, too. "Bein' back here's bringing William out in spades. Next thing you know I'll be a nervous, stammering wreck and…spoutin' off bad poetry." He looks away from me again, the smirk on his face melting into something softer as he turns his eyes out front and over the cityscape.

"I like the poetry," I offer, a little lamely but completely sincere. I had liked the poetry. Or the poetry he'd read and recited for me those couple times before. I'd always known the poetry thing had been something he'd carried over with him from when he was human, from when he was William. Or at least I'd assumed as much, given the fact that he'd carried the Tennyson poems around with him for well over a hundred years. He'd never come out and said as much though, so the fact that he's been the one to bring it up now feels…well, significant somehow.

"Ah, you like the _good_ poetry," Spike corrects me, shaking his head. Still not looking in my direction as he lowers his voice and adds, "Not so sure you'd've been a fan of old William's."

I snap my head back toward him, blinking. Eyes fixed to his profile, I wait for him to say something else. Or to pretend like he hadn't just said what he had. Or for my ears to unclog themselves so I can hear right again. Something. Anything.

But nothing happens.

Finally, I swallow and say, "You never told me you wrote poetry."

His eyes are wide when they shoot back to mine, a fluttering jolt of something that feels an awful lot like regret striking me quickly in my stomach before a it's gone again, pushed out by a flood of warmth as Spike's muscles visibly relax.

"That's because it's not worth talkin' about," he tells me, a new sparkle in his eye that hadn't been there before. "Bloody awful, it was."

"I don't believe that," I tell him quietly.

"No?" My vampire turns me back around to face front, the glow of the lock face in Big Ben capturing my attention once more as Spike wraps his arms around me and lowers his mouth to my ear. I hear him inhale, and when he speaks again his voice is gravelly and low. "' _Then might thy rays pass thro' to the other side, So swiftly, that they nowhere would abide, But lose themselves in utter emptiness.'"_ He turns his head slightly to feather his cool lips against my cheek. _"'Half-light, half-shadow, let my spirit sleep. They never learnt to love who never knew to weep.'"_

The last words seem to hang in the air around us, the melody of them achingly sweet and tender and only made more so by the pressure of his chest against my back and his lips on my skin. The incredible, heady floor to ceiling view of the city out in front of us.

Oh.

 _Whoa._

"That didn't sound rubbishy to me," I whisper.

"Probably because that wasn't mine," Spike whispers back.

The spell of the poem broken, but in a good way, I laugh out loud.

"Cheater." I gently elbow him in the ribs, feeling his answering chuckle vibrate deep into my back and make me feel warm all over again. I turn to meet his eyes, saying, "I want to hear one of yours. Or have you _conveniently_ forgotten all of them?"

He smirks at me. "Can't remember a blessed one."

"Sure you can't," I mutter, but don't push him. I don't need to. He's already shared a lot with me, more than I think he'd ever have really wanted to. Why he's been all tune change-y lately, I don't know…but I also don't really care. Definitely not now, with his arms around me and his smiling lips on my cheek and the warm, vibrating glow of the alcohol and the purr of a contented connection.

"So," Spike muses after our glass dome reaches it's starting position again and we prepare to step out. He turns me around in his arms so he can see my face. "What's next on your agenda?"

* * *

An hour later and I'm wrapped in delirious pleasure, my head light and hazy as Spike moves luxuriously over me, inside me. His thrusts are long, slow and deep, and I can feel him getting close. Can feel myself getting close. Feel my inner muscles pulse and flutter around him as he drives sinuously into me and I arch my back and hips up off the bed, unconsciously baring my throat to him. Equally unconsciously, he leans down and nips at the offered flesh with blunt teeth. Grazes the faded scar of my claim mark.

I realize dimly it isn't exactly what I'd been craving, but it's enough. Enough to send a shuddering jolt through my body, every muscle tightening and releasing as lights flash behind my eyes and I turn my head to capture his lips in a desperate kiss, moaning release into his mouth.

I melt back into the mattress, running hands that feel like they're floating down from his back to his hips and digging my nails in. Encouraging his rhythm, riding out the small aftershocks of my orgasm and staring up into my vampire's darkened eyes as he builds toward his own.

When he groans and collapses against me, burying his head in the crook of my neck, I feel more than hear him whisper, "I love you."

I pull him tighter against me in response, the buzz from the alcohol at dinner still tingling pleasantly in my veins. Satisfied, exhausted, I allow my lashes to flutter shut. We lay like this for a while, still connected. Not asleep but kind of only half awake maybe. I love this part. All after glowy and warm, crazy amounts of endorphins, being connected in more than just the obvious way. In the most simple, physical way _and_ through demon link. It's some of my favorite time to spend with him, and one of the only times when _what_ we are seems to blend seamlessly into _who_ we are.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask after a little while, opening my eyes again. Trailing light, lazy patterns across his bare back with my fingertips.

His response is softly muffled against my throat. "Always."

"Have you ever turned someone?" I ask, the question tumbling out without even a little bit of the tact I'd initially planned to ask it with. Probably has something to do with how insanely relaxed I feel.

Oops.

At least I hadn't come right out and asked if he'd ever thought about turning _me_.

Spike lifts his head from my neck as if my skin's just burned him, blinking down at me with surprised eyes. "What?"

"Have you ever sired someone?" I ask again, not bothering to adjust for tact now, considering I've already jumped that particular fence. I shift up onto my elbows and add, "Created another vampire. You know, bite, suck, blood of my blood...whatever."

Neither of us is relaxed anymore, and I'm already wondering if I should have just kept my mouth shut.

Spike frowns at me. "Right, yeah, got it. I...have," he answers slowly, pushing himself up onto his hands. His brows draw together. "You know I have."

My brow furrows to match his. "I do?"

The vampire nods, separating his body from mine and rolling over onto the mattress beside me. "That traitorous little friend of yours, back when I first came to Sunnydale. Can't remember the little weasel's name now, but—"

"Ford," I fill in for him, a cold, twisting sensation beginning in my gut as I sit up further, lean back against the pillows. I swallow hard, a chill raising goose bumps over my bare skin. "Yeah, I...forgot about Ford."

Because I had. Somehow in the course of the last three years, I'd completely forgotten about Ford. One of my oldest friends. I'd forgotten about all of it. About his plot to hand me over in exchange for immortality. About his death.

About who'd killed him.

"Oh, bollocks," Spike growls right on cue, tossing his head back into the headboard and closing his eyes. Then he shifts his gaze to mine and says, "I'm sorry, luv. I wasn't thinkin'—"

"No, it's fine." I meet his eyes and nod once, meaning it. "It was what he asked for. I'm the one that actually ended up putting him down for good, anyway." I pause to consider that, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth and biting down on it. My eyes find Spike's again. "I was surprised at the time that you kept your word to him."

My vampire sighs and leans his back into the pillows beside me, turning his eyes down to the black nailed hand he has pressed against his stomach. "Not really sure why I did it, if we're bein' honest. It's tricky business, siring another vamp. Things can go...wrong." He frowns then and looks back at me, his eyes searching mine seriously as he asks, "Why the sudden interest in siring, luv? Curiosity has to be comin' from someplace."

Yeah.

Coming from the place of having a dream or a nightmare or premonition or _whatever_ the hell that had been I'd had that night, where you asked me if I wanted to be with you forever and then you made with the biting. The place I haven't _really_ been able to stop thinking about since.

That place.

But I don't tell him that.

"It's just...Darla," I lie at the last second, shrugging. Hoping for casual. Not even consciously aware that I'm doing it until the rest of the lie is forming itself on the tip of my tongue and I'm saying that, too. "With her being Pietro's sire, and you and Angel and all the freaky bloodline stuff. I guess it got me thinking about whether or not you'd ever sired anyone." I wave a hand absently at him, searching for the right words. "If you have some…vamp childe running around out there somewhere involved in this whole thing that I should know about."

It's funny, it almost sounds convincing to me. Not bad for a last minute excuse.

"No, pet," Spike tells me, looking and feeling like he's torn between laughing out loud and groaning in relief, and maybe wanting to pull me into his arms. He doesn't do any of the above. Just gives me a small smirk and says, "There're no illegitimate baby Spike's runnin' 'round for you to be worried about. Our sect of the Aurelian line ends with me."

He says it so definitively, with such easy assurance, that if I _had_ actually been worried about the possibility, I'm sure I'd feel a ton better.

But there's still something there in his eyes as he gazes at me that I can't quite place. And that doesn't do anything at all to settle the knot in my stomach.

Spike must see something in my eyes too, because his smile falls and he tilts his head to the side. Asks, "What else is goin' on in that head of yours?"

I stare at him, blink a few times and glance down at the empty stretch of mattress in between us. I guess I could lie again. It wouldn't be that hard. Put the conversation off for another week or so. It isn't like getting my answer now would do us any real good anyway. I could lie again.

But for whatever reason I don't, deciding on a version of my real question instead.

"Did you ever think about siring anyone else?" I ask him quietly, my eyes steady on his when I do. "Other than Ford, I mean."

His eyes flash but he responds immediately. Without a second thought or a single moment's hesitation, the bright azure of his gaze never really wavering from mine.

"No."

But I think he's lying.

And as we sit in the darkness of the hotel room and stare at each other, I have a feeling that we both know it.


End file.
